Triquetra
by Mottlemoth
Summary: Harry/Draco/Snape; complete. "Reality is how frightened people justify wasting their lives." Harry's happy but it feels like he's the only one - and with a blackmailer watching, is there any hope at all of that famous Happily Ever After? M, slashy sex.
1. The Letter

*****

**Triquetra**_**  
By Mottlemoth**_

*****

_Author__'__s Notes_

(These notes are actually quite extensive – if you're eager to get to the fun stuff, here's a quick summary: Snape/Draco/Harry. AU – no 6th or 7th books. Angst. Drama. Plot. PORN. AND BY PORN, I MEAN PORN. You have been warned.)

Here follow the three reasons I have for penning this atrocity.

1) The sixth film was very inspiring - namely, the scene where Snape accosts Draco and offers his help in Draco's mission, and Harry is out of sight along the corridor listening. Mmhm.

2) I made a rather pleasing jump of logic a few days prior to beginning this fic. I love Snape/Harry; I love Harry/Draco; I started off doing Snape/Draco. I'm not sure why it's taken me so long to ponder Snape/Harry/Draco. Well, at last it's happened - so let's all reap the rewards.

3) Frek sort of dared me.

Here are some bits of information you need to know.

1) This is NOT canon compliant. I've gone a bit nostalgic for the golden age of fan fiction - just after the fifth book… the Order, the missions, task forces… you remember.

2) As a result, the story is set during an alternative sixth year for Draco and Harry. Please forget all talk of horcruxes. Everything up to the end of book five stands. Everything after? Pretend it didn't happen. Also: there will be next to no Voldemort in this story (a few name-drops). He's fab and all, but he's not for me.

3) My knowledge of canon has degraded to shocking levels. Please be gentle. Anyone who points out a flaw gets a prize.

And here are a lot of warnings.

1) Snape/Harry/Draco.

2) Which means: long-term threesome relationship between a teacher and two pupils (of legal age). This relationship will be of a very, very, _very_ sexual nature. A _gay_ sexual nature. Please stop reading if any of this is scaring you.

3) Oral. Anal. Some pinning down/gentle bondage/restraint. IE, sexy stuff and tons of it. I hope you're feeling adventurous or at least open-minded (our three boys are D). Note: nothing squicky. Don't panic. This story also comes with a warning that there are instances in which no _artificial_ lubricant is used – there is lubricant, it's just not shop-bought or manufactured. It's all natural. You'll find out soon enough.

4) Clichéd veela-related plot elements. I'm sorry. I've never written it before and it's hot, okay?

5) Some chapters are longer than others. There's quite a lot of variation, actually. Long chapters are usually the ones that are full of sex, though, so it's all good.

So! Final words - I'm not JK Rowling and these are NOT my characters. I'm not making any money from this. (In fact, go and rent the sixth film - it's awesome.)

_Triquetra_ is dedicated (as all things should be) to Snidgey. All complaints, please direct to Frek.

*

**Chapter One – The Letter**

*****

Harry had three pieces of post that morning. He opened them absent-mindedly, paying far more attention to his pancakes and the conversation around him at the breakfast table.

The first was easy enough to guess - A4 sized, a tough white envelope, with the _Quidditch Monthly_ logo glittering beneath the stamp. The second was a peevish note from Madam Pince, asking if he was quite done with half the NEWT Potions resources. No, was the answer.

The third was a brown envelope, long and slightly weathered. On the front, in a hand he didn't recognise, was written:

_Mr H Potter__  
Sixth Year__  
Gryffindor House  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

He tore it open with his thumb. Ron and Dean had already borrowed his magazine and were flicking through it for the interview with the new Harpies beater.

"There – " Dean held the magazine aloft; the young lady in question was posing with only a well-positioned beater's bat for modesty. "Oh yeah, that's the stuff."

"Yeah."

"Behold, Weasley. They don't make women like that in real life."

"Yeah - yeah." Ron admired. "I'd do her until she couldn't walk."

Hermione rolled her eyes behind her Transfiguration article. Ron and Dean turned the magazine around for Harry to cast his opinion.

"What d'you think, Potter?" Dean said. "Any advance on doing her until she can't walk? Do her until her teeth fall out, maybe?"

Harry frowned and grinned at once, reaching up to crumple the magazine down the middle. "Come on, guys… there's first years around. Put it away."

They were laughing. Harry tugged the letter out of his third envelope.

"You've not even seen her play Quidditch yet," he said. "She might be rubbish. They could have a new one by March."

"Who cares?" Dean crowed, and there was more laughter. He marveled at the photograph. "I'll care if she plays Quidditch in, ah, this particular kit."

"Not… particularly practical, Dean." Harry grinned, glancing down at the unfolded letter. "The wind chill factor - …"

Ron and Dean were too busy ogling to notice Harry fade into silence.

Hermione was not. She glanced up with a set scowl - upon seeing his expression, she forgot her irritation at once. Her face fell. She put down her article. "Harry?"

Harry folded the letter quickly. "Mm?"

"What is it?"

"It's nothing, it's okay."

"Harry, nobody looks like _that_ over a letter about nothing."

He shoved the letter back into its envelope, trying to keep his face neutral. His heart was pounding. "No, honestly - don't worry about it. I…" A lie offered itself up to him. "Sirius. Inheritance stuff."

"Oh…" Hermione lowered her eyes. "Okay - sorry, Harry."

"No, it's not your fault." He glanced at Ron and Dean. "Don't mention - not here."

"No, no. Of course."

He felt bad lying to Hermione. He felt especially bad lying about Sirius. He felt infinitely worse about the letter he was now pushing deep into his bag. The hall seemed to have closed in - other people's conversations were suddenly louder, their faces nearer, pressing in. His hands were clammy and his face hot.

He glanced around - had anyone read the letter over his shoulder? Nobody was staring. It seemed okay.

He had to leave. This was bad. Very bad.

"I'm… going to go to the library, hand back some books." He stood up. Ron and Dean were now debating the finer points of the female chest, and what size really was the perfect handful. "You guys can give me that back later, I've got to go – "

"Mind if it's stained?" Dean grinned.

Harry tried to find it funny. He couldn't. He pretended he hadn't heard and left the table, hurrying from the hall.

The nearest bathroom was thankfully empty - he loosened his cuffs, splashed his face with cold water and sank down upon the grimy floor. He took the letter out. It seemed to burn his hands.

He read it again, and again, and a fourth time. He studied each letter of each word - they'd been cut out of the Daily Prophet. He read the letter until the message was almost carved on the inside of his brain, hoping it would calm him down, hoping each time he read it that the message would miraculously change. It would reveal itself as a joke. A horrible, sick joke.

It didn't.

They were screwed.

*

Potions was only second thing, but seemed to take several weeks to come around. Harry was grateful that it was a practical session, requiring a lot of separate ingredients to be collected from the NEWT stores down the corridor. He would have to wait a while, though. There were too many people at first, both in the classroom and the store, and there would be no privacy.

He did his best to concentrate on the potion at hand, for now.

When purple bubbles the size of quaffles began to rise from his cauldron, Harry decided that today was, in fact, the worst day of his life.

"Potter!"

He closed his eyes. _Please don't_, he thought. _Not today. I can't handle it today. _Professor Snape did not receive the psychic message.

"Potter, I'm aware that as the self-proclaimed figurehead of Gryffindor House, you're inclined to see yourself as a pioneer - a maverick - but might I request you _do _follow the recipes?"

Snape swept across the classroom to Harry's workbench like a shark through a shoal of fish. He seized a fistful of seasalt from Hermione's supplies.

"Other subjects might applaud ingenuity and creativity at NEWT level, Potter. Not mine."

He scattered the salt across the bubbles. Spittling, they shrank away.

"When I state clockwise, boy, I mean clockwise. Not anti-clockwise."

"Sorry, sir."

"Are you aware of the difference between the two? Perhaps a glance at the clock, and a minute pondering its motions, would assist your learning."

"Sorry, sir."

"If we're lucky, you might also gain some idea of time management. It is twenty past, Potter. This potion is both behind schedule and a shambles. I'd hoped we'd seen some improvement - "

Harry had had enough. He glanced around. No-one was watching. He lowered his voice to its softest level, and hissed at Snape over the smoke from his cauldron. "Leave it, alright?"

Snape stared, his expression unreadable. Harry looked away. A very awkward silence ensued.

The professor then turned on his heel and swept back through the class.

"Blake - crush, don't chop. More juices are required for the recipe than is produced by chopping."

Harry stared down into his cauldron. He felt weak. He wanted to be sick. He wondered what vomit would add to the consistency of the potion, and if he cared, and what the hell he was going to do.

He heard the classroom door open, somewhere at the edge of his consciousness. Only when he next looked up, and spotted that Draco Malfoy's workbench was now vacant, did he realise. His heart leapt into his throat.

"Can you watch my potion?" he said to Hermione, grabbing his bag. "I need something - "

He ran from the room before she could answer.

The store was empty except for Draco - the blonde was hunting through the shelf of vegetable oils, frowning, textbook cradled in the crook of one arm. As the door snapped shut, he glanced round. He saw Harry.

His lips curved.

"During Potions?" he murmured, and threw his book aside. "Alright. I'm game."

He shoved Harry back against the door before Harry could get the words out, and crushed their lips together. Revulsion spread over Harry's skin in waves. Even the familiar, soft scent of vanilla that rose up did nothing to comfort him. He struggled, trying to push the blonde away, trying to speak. Draco only seemed to think he was writhing and kissed him harder, pinning him in place, emitting a low growl.

In the end, Harry had to resort to the unthinkable. He stamped, hard, on Draco's left foot. Draco yelped into his mouth with pain.

"What the hell - " the Slytherin spluttered, staggering backwards. Harry seized him.

"I need to talk to you. It's - it's bad. It's really bad."

Draco hopped on one leg, massaging the point of his shoe. He scowled at Harry. "What about?" he said.

Harry opened his mouth. He didn't know how to begin to explain. He swallowed and reached into his bag, hunting for the letter.

"I - I got this today." He pushed the crumpled envelope into Draco's hands. "Just as it is. No address of sender."

Draco shook the letter free. He flicked it open and read, one eyebrow raised. Harry watched his lips silently form the words - there weren't many.

_I kNOw aBouT yOU aNd malFoY _

Harry waited for Draco's reaction. Nothing was coming. The Slytherin simply held the letter and read it, several times, processing. Once, he wet his lips with a flick of pink tongue.

"Right," he said. He folded the letter quickly. "Fuck. Fuck, fuck."

"I don't know who sent it. There was nothing else - just that."

Draco was turning even paler than normal. "This is bad."

"I know." Harry swallowed. "It's - it says just us, though. Just you and me. Not - "

"Right. That's… that's good, at least. Fuck."

"What do we do?"

"We need to tell him. He'll know what to do. He'll… I don't know, test it and be able to say who sent it." Draco inhaled slowly. "Then, in the middle of the night, you and I go to whichever dormitory this pervert sleeps in, and we curse him until he can't even remember his own name."

Harry took the letter. "It's not someone in the school - look at the address. They specified Gryffindor House. So - so it's someone outside Hogwarts."

"Fuck… you're right."

Draco paused, then fixed him with a steely glare.

"Who have you told outside the school?"

"No-one!" Harry almost laughed. "You think I've been _telling _people? I've not told anyone anywhere, let alone in the outside world - "

Something horrible occurred to him.

"Why?" he said, as panic rose. "Who have you told _inside_ the school?"

"Nobody," Draco snapped. He threw the letter at Harry. "I have a sense of _discretion_, of course I haven't – "

"Sorry, are you saying I've not? You think I've been - been boasting, or blabbing? You think this is the kind of thing I _tell _people?"

"Well, _I _haven't told anyone," Draco said, simply.

Harry took the comment like a knife-wound. He felt the colour run from his face. "I - look, I _haven't_ – "

Draco's face crumpled; he covered his mouth.

"Oh God - Harry - I'm sorry."

Harry looked away. "It's… it's alright, just - "

"No, it's _not_ alright - how can I accuse you?" Draco looked distraught; Harry had felt that way all day. The blonde moved closer. "I… I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to – "

"Honestly, it's alright."

Harry gave in - he knew that right now he should be avoiding Draco like an infectious disease. He couldn't. Awkwardly he put his arms around the blonde and Draco burrowed into him, clinging. The very sudden change in Draco's mood was not a huge shock – more and more, he was getting used to it.

"It's okay," Harry murmured into the strands of baby blonde silk. "I… I freaked out too."

"I'm sorry. I know you wouldn't."

"Okay - so long as you know. I _haven't_ told anyone."

"Harry, I'm - I'm worried. I'm _very_ worried. If this gets out - or if they find out it's not just - "

"Look, let's not talk about it now." Harry buried his fingers in Draco's hair, closing his eyes. "We'll see him tonight. He'll help."

Footsteps were coming this way. Harry heard them just in time. He let Draco go as if he were ablaze, and the cupboard door flew open.

Professor Snape glowered in. His face was shrouded in the gloom.

"Out," he said, holding open the door. "Both of you."

"We - " Draco began, but Snape hissed him into silence.

"Whatever has caused this bizarre behavior ceases _now_," the professor said, half-fierce, half-whispered. "Out. Back to the classroom and if I have any more reason to engage with either of you this session, I will not be pleased."

They left the cupboard. Draco strode away down the corridor, smoothing the back of his hair and thumbing Harry's saliva from around his lips.

As Harry passed, Snape held out an arm to stop him.

"And if you address me in that way again," the professor whispered, "whilst I am teaching - "

Harry's chest heaved. "I'm human."

"Not in my classroom. You knew things would be this way. Speak to me like that again, I will have no choice but to detain you and it will be _an actual detention_. Is that clear?"

Harry ignored this, even though his hands curled into fists. He didn't want to be angry. He didn't want to admit the criticism still hurt, however much it was performance. "We need to talk to you."

"Not two nights in a row. Back to the classroom."

"It's _serious_."

Snape sneered. "And so is my desire to keep my job."

Harry reached angrily into his bag. He pushed the letter into Snape's hand. "We'll come at nine," he said, and pulled away. He strode back down the corridor. He didn't want to think of the professor watching him go.

Hermione had kept his potion safe - she'd even improved it. Harry tried to push the letter from his head. There was nothing they could do until tonight. He slaved over his potion for the rest of the hour, pouring his frustrations and his fear into the draft, and he was among the first to finish. It was the best potion he'd ever made.

As he spooned a sample into a canister, he glanced up at the teacher's desk.

Snape was studying the fateful envelope. As Harry watched, the professor slid the letter from inside and unfolded it, reading. His eyes travelled over the words several times. They took a moment to sink in.

Snape then glanced up in Harry's direction.

Harry stared back.

He didn't know what expression he could give, what words he could mouth, to make anything better. He could only look, despairing. They held eyes for a long moment. Severus seemed to be in much the same frame of mind as Harry.

The professor looked away first. He folded the letter back into its envelope.

As Harry brought the filled canister to Snape's desk, Snape did not look up. He was inking in the session's register.

"At eight," the professor said, to no-one in particular.

Harry headed back to his workbench. He passed Draco on the way, carrying up a perfect sample.

"At eight," Harry said.

Draco said nothing.


	2. Dracosexual Stirrings

*****

**Triquetra**_**  
By Mottlemoth**_

*****

**Chapter Two – Dracosexual Stirrings**

It had all started on the train journey to Hogwarts – five months ago now. He and Ron were halfway through their traditional annual desecrating of the sweets trolley when Ginny looked round from the window, and said to Hermione,

"Did you see Draco Malfoy on the platform?"

Hermione put down her book. "I did, actually."

"What did you think?"

"He looks… different, doesn't he?"

Ron scooped another handful of Bertie Botts from the bag. "Please tell me he's got more spots than Percy's arse."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Eurgh, Ron. No. He's…" She glanced at Ginny. "… different."

Ginny nodded. "He is."

Harry frowned between them. "What do you mean, different?" He took a bean from Ron's hand. "Rough?"

"No," both girls said at once, and Harry blinked. Ginny shifted in her seat. Her eyes slid back to Hermione, as if they were sharing some psychic message – confirming something between them. Ron's sister then half-smiled.

"He's… well. Hot."

Ron's eyebrows drew together sharply. "What?"

"He must have started moisturising or something," Ginny said. She helped herself to a few beans. "He looks really good. Healthy and… glowing and all that. Like the girls on skin commercials."

"I thought it was his hair," said Hermione. "I didn't notice his skin."

"His hair?"

"It looks very… soft. Silky. A little whiter."

"Maybe it's both."

"Mm, I think it is." Hermione smiled. "He's moving differently. More grown-up. Graceful. He looked… quite pretty actually, didn't he?"

Ron shook his head. "You're both nuts," he said. "Trick of the light. Let's not talk about this, alright?"

Harry had to agree. "Malfoy's always been a pretty-boy. So what if he moisturises? His dad's still a Death Eater."

No more was said on the subject. All the same, he could feel the continuing psychic communication between Hermione and Ginny. They shared the odd glance, and grinned when they did. Malfoy was now as present in the compartment as if he'd strolled in and sat down with them all. It made Harry distinctly uncomfortable. He wasn't sure why.

Ron didn't seem too happy either – he was sullen for the rest of the journey, and kept shooting dark glances at both girls. All in all, it was a relief when the train pulled into Hogsmeade Station.

They were climbing into a carriage when Hermione suddenly let out a cry.

"Oh! My book – I've left it on the train…" She turned in her seat to stare back down the platform, desperate. "I need to finish it before our first Charms class… this is a disaster – "

"I'll get it, it's okay." Harry stepped down from the coach. "Just back in our compartment?"

"Yes – thanks, Harry. I'll owe you a big favour."

He grinned. "First Charms essay?"

She frowned. "I'll proof-read it, but I'm not doing it."

"Cheers, Hermione. I'll hold you to that."

He jogged back down the platform, weaving in and out of the crowd pouring towards the coaches. Hagrid waved from beside the usual gaggle of terrified first years. People were still getting off the train. Harry fought his way through to a free doorway.

As he made to jump onto the train, someone else made to get off. They collided in the door. Harry staggered.

"Whoa – sorry!"

"Watch where you're going, idiot!"

It was Malfoy. He glared at Harry from the doorway, his pale cheeks flushed, his hair flicked to one side by the crash. He brushed down what looked like a new velvet coat – midnight-blue, soft on his figure.

"Forgotten how to walk over the holidays, Potter?" he sneered.

Harry made no sound. He could walk, he thought. He just couldn't speak. Malfoy's eyes flared with discomfort, his shoulders hunching.

"What are you staring at?" the Slytherin snapped. His cheeks were pinker than ever. "Take a photograph, why don't you? It'll last longer."

Harry cleared his throat. "Sorry – "

Draco seemed to shiver slightly. He rolled his eyes. "Get out of the way," he said, and shoved past Harry, breezing away along the platform at high speed. The tips of his hair lifted in the breeze. His shoulders were set rigid.

People turned to stare as he passed.

Harry stood in the door of the Hogwarts Express, with the world in pieces around him.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He could only feel – the places on his arms and his side, a little of his chest, where Draco had pushed him – they seemed to burn. They tingled. It was like peppermint and ice and silk. He could smell something, he realised, something new. Something sweet and warm, something of absolute comfort. He lifted his arm and sniffed his coat.

Vanilla.

His friends were on their main course by the time he got to Hogwarts. Hermione looked up as he sat down, her face opening in happiness.

"Harry, you're wonderful – thank you so much."

She waited. He sat down, a little numb, a little blown away. She coughed.

"Harry, did you… bring my book?"

"Oh – shit, sorry Hermione. I forgot."

She frowned. "Then – where have you been? What took so long?"

He opened his mouth, then realised he didn't have a clue what to say. He'd been standing half-on and half-off the train, staring at the platform where Draco Malfoy had walked, and he didn't even know why he'd done it. He _had_ to. It had felt so right. He could still smell vanilla.

He shook his head.

"Can someone pass the potatoes?" he mumbled. Ron handed the dish across the table. Hermione said nothing, though her lips were rather thin.

"So," Ron said, with a mouthful of chicken. He turned in his seat to peer across the Great Hall. "Where's magical new moisturising Malfoy, then? Let's see what's so special."

He frowned through the forest of heads, squinting.

"I don't see anything new," he said. "Same old blonde prat."

Ginny tutted. "Of course you don't," she said. "You're so straight it hurts. He'd need a full set of double-Ds before _you_ noticed anything."

She turned to Harry.

"What do you think?" she said, mildly.

Harry chanced a glance up from his plate.

Malfoy was sitting with his friends at the Slytherin table, listening but not participating in the conversation. He still seemed faintly uncomfortable. As Harry watched, he swirled himself a delicate forkful of spaghetti and proceeded to suck the thread carefully into his mouth, lips pursed. His eyes closed.

Harry choked on his potato. As Ron thumped his back, saying, "Get it up, Harry – cough harder – ", Hermione and Ginny were oblivious. They were watching the Slytherin table, as rapt as if Malfoy were pole-dancing over there.

A communal sigh was heaved.

"Even the sucking is hot," Ginny mused, sounding surprised.

"Isn't it, though?" said Hermione.

*

There was no doubt about it. Draco Malfoy was now hot, and Harry knew it.

He spent a week telling himself it was nothing but a strange form of jealousy, that he wanted to _be_ Malfoy, not be _with_ him. He reminded himself, over and over, that he was confirmed and proved straight. He'd kissed a girl and he'd liked it. He ignored that he'd never felt this way about Cho, or about any girl, and he took comfort in the fact that he'd never even thought about liking guys. It hadn't been an option. He was straight – he knew it. Of course he did.

But after the first week of classes in Draco Malfoy's presence, he could no longer deny some doubt in the matter.

He couldn't stop _looking_ at the other boy. He just wanted to sit and stare, think about him, be near him and listen to his voice, and Harry smelt it everywhere now – the vanilla. It was in the classrooms Draco used. It was all over the library. It was on Harry's hands and his books and his school robes.

"Can you smell something on these?" he said to Hermione on the first Saturday, thinking he was going mad.

Gingerly she sniffed at the bundle of robes he held out. "Um – normal you?"

"What does it smell of?"

"Your deodorant – lemongrass, I think. Why? What am I meant to be smelling?"

"What about this?" He held out his Potions textbook.

It was by far the most scented of them all. In their second Potions class of the week, he'd found himself gravitating to sit at the desk Malfoy had used in the first class. He hadn't meant to. He'd been angry at himself for the rest of the day. All the same, his textbook was now covered in the smell of vanilla. It was infecting the rest of his things.

Hermione took it. She sniffed.

"General sort of… book smell?" she said. She inhaled deeper. "It's nice."

"Not… vanilla?"

She frowned. "No, not at all. Why?"

"Does anything smell of vanilla?" he said.

"Harry, you're scaring me a little."

"Please. Please tell me you can smell it."

"No – definitely not. It's nothing like vanilla." She eyed him. "I'd say you're working too hard, if I didn't know better."

The second week was even worse than the first. By Wednesday, Harry was wondering what he'd ever seen in girls – the thought of touching one, kissing one, made him feel slightly green. At the same time, the thought of kissing Ron or another boy was just as bad. He thought about Draco Malfoy from when he woke up in the morning until when he went to bed, and then laid awake most of the night thinking about Draco Malfoy. He thought about them talking together and going walking together, studying together, even living together (Draco would cook and do groceries; he would clean and fix appliances). He thought of them sleeping together.

_I'm a Dracosexual_, he thought one morning, as he stared miserably into his bowl of soggy cornflakes. _I am so doomed._

He seemed to run into Malfoy everywhere. It made him panic – surely Malfoy would soon decide Harry was following him, and announce to the world Harry's raving Dracosexuality. Harry didn't _mean_ to come across him. Most of the time he actively avoided places the Slytherin would be. The Potions section in the library was now completely out of bounds, stinking of vanilla as it was, and he tried to delay his meals so he couldn't sit staring at Malfoy across the hall.

It was no use though. Malfoy was everywhere, just like his bloody vanilla smell. He appeared in corridors, coming the opposite way, and every single time their eyes met, however brief, Harry felt the most overpowering burst of happiness in his stomach. His heart cried out, _there you are. _His whole body blazed with joy.

He hated it.

He hated more, so much more, that Malfoy always looked away. The blonde hunched his shoulders and kept walking. He didn't even spit nasty comments at Harry anymore. Harry just didn't exist. It was the worst thing of all.

Their Potions class on the second Friday came around with painful slowness. Harry arrived early, not wanting to be loitering outside the classroom when Draco turned up. Snape's eyebrows lifted as Harry stormed into the classroom, the first to arrive by a comfortable ten minutes.

"Eager today, are we, Potter?"

Harry thought to snap at him to go away, then realised it wouldn't help matters at all. He gritted his teeth, hauling his supplies from his bag and slamming them down on the desk. "Yes, professor."

"I can't say I'm not suspicious, Potter."

"Professor McGonagall said I was only allowed to do Potions on the condition I put extra effort in, sir." He bit his tongue. "Even though I got Outstanding in my OWL."

"Mm. Another thing which makes me suspicious." Snape stood up.

He idled over as Harry continued to arrange his equipment, stubbornly not looking up at the professor. Snape regarded him.

"For some reason, Potter, I can't bring myself to believe you actually intend to put in the extra effort – even with you standing before me, apparently doing it."

For a moment, Harry was about to complain – then he realised he'd almost missed this. Life was so simple, when being bullied by Professor Snape was the worst thing that ever happened to him. He looked up, holding his Potions textbook.

"I'll just keep proving it for the whole two years, then," he said. "Sir."

He'd surprised Snape. The black eyes widened, ever so slightly, and Harry suspected he was witnessing a very rare spectacle. "An admirable attitude, Potter. Let us hope it lasts."

"Thank you."

Snape turned to walk away, then paused. He glanced back. He reached a hand out for Harry's textbook.

Puzzled, Harry handed it over.

Something stirred low in his stomach as Snape brought the book to his nose – and sniffed. The professor frowned.

"Which set of ingredients did you purchase, Potter?"

"The required one, sir – on the sheet sent out."

Snape fixed him with a very penetrating stare. "Then you bought some extra supplies of your own?"

Harry didn't know where this was going. Something told him he didn't want to know. "No, sir – just the set."

For a long time, Snape said nothing. He merely looked at Harry. Harry looked back, knowing he had nothing to hide, and the moment was soon so intense as to be almost painful.

Then Snape moved – he took a step closer. Harry went completely still.

"Turn around," Snape murmured.

Harry hesitated, then turned. "Professor?" he tried.

"Head forward."

Harry put his head forward.

Snape pushed aside the hair at the nape of his neck – and to Harry's eternal surprise, sniffed him.

"Anything to confess, Potter?"

"No," Harry said, startled. It was rare he had nothing to confess, or at least nothing Snape would be interested in. He knew the truth was audible in his voice. He pulled away. "Why?"

Snape studied him. His hands were far too cold, Harry decided, and his eyes were far too close. "Is the textbook your own?"

"Yes, sir."

"To whom have you leant it?"

"No one, sir. It's just mine."

Snape leant over Harry's desk, sniffing, following some trail. "Are you the only one to have sat at this desk, Potter?"

"No, sir. Draco Malfoy – " Even saying the name gave Harry a thrill. He scowled to compensate. "In the first class."

Snape paused.

Then he straightened up. "I see," he said. "Very well then, Potter. Continue with your work."

And he left the room.

This incident would have lingered in Harry's mind for a very long time indeed, had it not been overshadowed that night by something much more significant.

The class itself was nothing unusual. Snape was once more bad-tempered and difficult to please, and Draco Malfoy was still hot, and Harry's potion smelt of vanilla. So, in fact, did his roast beef at dinner that night, and so did everything else in the hall. Harry's friends chatted around him, happy and oblivious, discussing classes and homework and all things that Harry wished were his only worries. He sat amongst them like a ghost.

He glanced up from his meal, miserable.

And found a pair of silver-grey eyes watching him from across the hall.

The second Harry looked up, Malfoy looked away. He returned to his meal, which was mostly untouched. As he poked his vegetables about his plate, he lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his neck, as if he had an ache there. Harry's heart pounded.

"Pudding!" Ron's voice said, a thousand miles away. "Excellent!"

Harry's plate vanished, his leftover roast beef with it, to be replaced by a pudding bowl. There were noises of excitement up and down the Gryffindor table. Ron lost no time in getting stuck in, spooning whatever it was into his mouth with gusto.

Harry tore his eyes from the Slytherin table at last. He glanced down.

Vanilla cheesecake.

He pushed his bowl across the table to Ron, who looked up with cream dabbed about his mouth. "Here," Harry said. "Seconds for you. I'm not hungry."

"You alright?" Ron asked, concerned.

Harry managed a smile as he stood up. "Yeah… I'm a bit run-down. I might go for a ride on the Firebolt."

The Quidditch pitch was everything Harry hoped it would be – dark and secluded, quiet, just cold enough to wake him up. There wasn't another soul around. The distant castle windows glittered in the September darkness, and soon the school was far beneath Harry as he soared up into the night sky.

Troubles couldn't be run from, he'd found – but you could fly from them. Everything that was wrong with the world would be waiting for him, back on the ground. Until then, he was free.

He flew for some miles across the Scottish hills. It felt as if the wind were blowing him clean. He could smell only clean air – clean air and the clouds, and broomstick polish, and all the things he was supposed to smell. For a moment, the thought of Snape's breath on the nape of his neck came back to his mind. The wind whipped it away. It was gone.

When he returned to the pitch, the lights were beginning to turn out across the castle. He wondered if anyone would notice he was missing. He wondered if they would worry. He didn't care.

For some time, he practiced with an old quaffle he found in the stands, tossing it in and out of the goal hoops. He imagined the roar of a crowd and proud faces. He felt as if he were eleven again, eleven and brand new and Voldemort was just an old nightmare, Snape was just an old git and Malfoy was just a pain in the arse. He was eleven and things didn't matter. It was good to be alive.

Taking his next shot, he over-pitched. The quaffle plummeted towards the grass.

Harry followed like a bullet, the wind rushing through his hair. He tilted at the very last second. He tumbled onto the ground, his broom rocketing off towards the opposite goal posts, and the quaffle toppled neatly onto his chest. Exhilaration pounded through his veins.

He lay in the grass for quite some time, looking up at the stars. His broom returned and hovered beside him, waiting. Everything was peaceful.

Only when he sighed, what felt like hours later, did he realise the smell of vanilla had come back.

He lifted his head from the grass.

Draco Malfoy sat in the front row of the nearest stand. He was cross-legged and barefoot, dressed in what looked like pajamas, with his blue velvet coat for warmth. His hair was un-brushed. Harry hadn't realised at dinner just how tired and on edge Draco seemed, but he realised it now, and it made his heart seem to squish in on itself a little.

He closed his eyes.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" he tried. He just couldn't make it sound like he used to.

"I needed to be alone," Draco said. "I can't stand being in the common room anymore."

"Oh?"

"I'm tired of morons staring at me, Potter."

Harry opened his eyes, sprawled in the grass and upside-down. Draco was rubbing the back of his neck, staring up at the castle. He looked as if he were on the very brink of despair.

"I'm tired of them talking to me," he said. His voice caught in his throat. "I'm tired of them coming up with lame excuses to touch me – sit next to me – asking if I want to go for a drink. My mother said no-one would notice. I'm only an eighth, for God's sake. And this is only the first – the first is meant to be _mild_. A practice heat."

Harry said nothing. Draco shuddered a little.

"She said it's never bad. She said it's – it's _manageable_, but – … God, Potter, why you? Why does it have to be you?"

"What – what are you talking about?"

"I'm in heat, Potter. My first."

Harry stared. Draco didn't seem to notice.

"I can't sleep," he said. He covered his face with his hands, shaking. "I can't eat properly. I can't concentrate in class. I just – … constantly, just thinking – and I think it's you. I don't know why it's you. I don't _want_ it to be you."

Harry decided he dared to ask.

"Sorry – you're on _heat?_" he said. "Like… a dog or something?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "How crude."

"Why are you… on heat?"

"If you tell anyone, I'll deny it. And believe me, Potter – the amount of pheromones I'm unleashing, it's _me_ they'll believe."

"Why are you on heat?"

"I'm…" Draco shifted, uncomfortable. "I have some… veela heritage. One-eighth." He frowned. "My family aren't legally registered, so I haven't access to drugs from St Mungo's. I have to deal with it as nature intended."

"Legally… registered?"

"All part-veela must be, by law."

"Why aren't you registered?"

"Part-veela aren't widely trusted. We're thought to be… manipulative. Scheming. It would affect my father's career, and my future prospects."

Harry thought to say he found Draco's family manipulative and scheming regardless of what was in their blood – he also thought to mention that Lucius Malfoy's indefinite confinement in Azkaban might play a greater factor – but he didn't. He wasn't sure why Draco was telling him this. He wasn't sure when he'd started thinking of the other boy as Draco, either.

"So that's why you're… why people think you're, uh. Hot now. Hotter."

Draco studied him from a distance. "You can smell them properly, can't you?"

"Smell what?" Harry said, a shade too quickly.

"My – my pheromones. I've seen you. You smell things." Draco stood up – he came to the front of the stand, gripping the rail. "You smell my Potions textbook. I've seen you do it."

"I smell _my_ textbook," Harry said, then cringed inwardly, knowing it was as good as a confession.

Draco paused. "It was mine. I swapped them in our first class."

"Why?"

"So I could have yours."

Harry felt his heart flip over in his chest. Flying was nothing compared to this. "Why would you want mine?"

Draco laid a hand on the gate; he pushed it open, gently, and stepped down onto the grass of the pitch. Out here in the dark, his skin seemed to glow – moon-like.

"Most people are affected by the pheromones," he said. "Not many people can distinguish them properly. Just… just very compatible mates can. And I can smell your human ones."

"I don't have pheromones!"

"You do. You just aren't aware of them." Draco wet his lips. "They're everywhere – all on my clothes. My bed. Everywhere."

Harry sat up slightly, swallowing around a thick throat. "Look, I'm – I'm not gay."

"Neither am I." Draco shuddered. "Look – no strings," he promised. "Please. I know you hate me but – please – I just _need _– "

That was the first time. Draco pulled him by the hand under the Quidditch stands, where moonlight fell in strips across the wilted grass. In the half-dark, they kissed and fumbled and undressed in a mix of desperation and fear. Draco was insatiable – it wasn't like kissing Cho, or anyone else – his mouth was so soft and so hot, and there was something so satisfyingly primal about penetrating the pliant lips with his tongue that Harry did it over and over until Draco was whimpering and shaking against him. The blonde had de-evolved. He ripped two buttons from Harry's Quidditch robes in an effort to get them off.

They stumbled onto the fallen robes, half-dressed – Harry pinned Draco's wrists, shifting his weight onto the blonde's slender body, holding him down. Draco was moaning. His lips were swollen from kisses, cheeks flushed, eyes aglitter. As Harry bit and sucked at his neck, the other boy began to beg and rock his hips, pushing his hard-on against Harry's thigh. His fingers dug into Harry's shoulders.

"Fuck," he was whimpering; "Fuck – … please – "

Harry nuzzled his way down, over the pristinely pale collarbones to the pink peaks of Draco's nipples, pebbled from the chilled night air. Harry didn't have a clue what he was doing. He was terrified; he was probably doing it wrong.

It was wonderful.

He lathed his tongue across Draco's nipples, relishing the little cries it earned him, and as his courage grew, he drew one then the other into his mouth and sucked hard. Draco tightened all over. He whined. He gripped Harry's shoulders hard enough to leave marks, and the pain was exquisite.

The blonde didn't wear underwear beneath his pajama bottoms – the grey silk slid down over milky-white thighs and calves, skin so soft and untouched. Harry worked the loose material gently over each foot. Even Draco's ankles were gorgeous. He licked them, experimenting. Draco groaned as if he were dying.

"Please," he whimpered again, lying naked on Harry's robes now. He swallowed. Harry watched his throat muscles work. "Please, just – "

Harry reached for the buckle of his belt. Draco pushed his hands away and fumbled with the catch himself, snapped it open and worked desperately at the zip. The second it opened, his hands pushed under the denim. They cupped Harry, squeezing, fondling.

Harry choked; his head fell forward. Draco began to rub him rhythmically, primitive and hard, too slow.

By the time he was kicking out of his jeans, Harry was on the verge of coming. The cold did little to ease the urgent pulse of his cock. But it was the first time he'd been naked with someone, anyone, and it was all so quick. For a moment he panicked, kneeling over Draco's naked body spread out on their strewn robes. What if someone heard them? What if he regretted doing this tomorrow? Then he leant low, nuzzling at the side of Draco's neck; and vanilla filled his head, slaking some ache inside him.

"Now." Draco was gripping his shoulders, shuddering all over. "Now, now – _please, _Harry."

_Harry_. His heart contracted. He'd never heard his name said like that before.

"W-What do you want?" he whispered in Draco's ear, voice thick. He didn't know how to talk dirty. He didn't want to try.

Draco spread his legs. He wrapped them around Harry's thighs, dragging him closer – their cocks settled, nuzzled. Harry's eyes rolled into the back of his head. Draco's mouth fell open, but he shook his head.

"N-No – " The blonde swallowed, his lips parted. "Not like this. P-Put it in me. Please."

Harry's head whirled. He knew little of gay sex – Sex Education with Madame Pomfrey had told him enough to know at least some variety of artificial lubricant was required. "We – we haven't got – cream or anything, it'll hurt."

"Don't care."

"You will tomorrow."

Draco's teeth gritted – he tightened his grip on Harry's shoulders, half-wild now. "_Please," _he moaned, and when Harry did not comply, he pushed upwards with surprising and sudden strength. Harry tumbled over onto his back.

Before he could move, Draco was on top of him and grabbing his wrists. The blonde moved to straddle him, hips held aloft. He grasped Harry's cock with one hand, tight.

The first press took Harry's breath away. The entirety of his body seemed to vanish, focused in on that one sensation of pressure and softness and yielding, the smooth ingress – hot, slick wetness – all around him, pushing over him, sucking him in. He fought not to come on the spot. Draco's body was so soft, no resistance. He was wet. He took every inch of Harry without breathing, without pausing, and Harry's brain staggered. Surely it was meant to be tight, dry – surely it was meant to hurt. This wasn't normal.

Draco swallowed, letting out a low, throaty groan; he gripped Harry's shoulders; he settled into place, making himself comfortable. Sweat shone on his chest and his neck. He exhaled.

Then his body clenched tight – squeezed snug around Harry's cock, clamped down – and Harry decided that whatever Draco Malfoy demanded of him, for the rest of his life, he would give it.

It took a minute of quiet before Harry had clawed himself back from the brink. Draco looked much the same way. The blonde stretched and his head fell back, eyes closing in bliss. He squeezed Harry's shoulders. "Mm hmm?" he managed; and Harry huffed his wordless agreement.

Draco began to move – back and forth, restless, clumsy. The slick, soft heat sliding wet around Harry's cock was like nothing he'd felt in his life. He gripped Draco's hips hard, digging his fingers into the perfect skin, and his hips lifted in rhythm. Draco groaned; the sound fell from his lips. He rocked faster. Harry responded, pushing into the snug wet heat of Draco's body over and over. His head fell back into the grass. It tickled the nape of his neck and along his shoulders.

Little more than a minute passed before Harry could stand the heat no longer. His arms ached as he struggled to sit up, gathering Draco into his arms. The blonde held tight as they rolled again. Harry's cock slid from Draco's body, bobbed free, and Draco whimpered with desperation.

"Shhh – shhh…" The moment Draco was on his back, Harry pushed the blonde's thighs apart. He held them open, shaking. He buried his face in Draco's neck. "Relax again – "

He shifted, pressing the head of his cock to the softened entrance. Draco was almost sobbing. He pushed in, slow, and the blonde's breath hitched out of sync. Harry bit into his own lip until he tasted blood. He sheathed himself again – so hot, so wet – so good – and as soon as he was in, withdrew to the tip, shoved back inside, quick and smooth and hard. Draco half-howled; his fingernails finally broke the skin of Harry's back.

Harry drove in hard, almost rough – burying himself completely each time and falling in love with the noises it produced from Draco, the whimpers and the cries and the heartfelt, desperate exclamations. He realised he'd needed this for two weeks. They both had. He didn't care who overheard.

"H-Harry – " Draco's thighs tightened around Harry's waist; his face screwed up. He broke. "_F-fuck – !!_"

*

Afterwards, they laid in the quiet beneath Draco's coat. Draco was glowing. Harry could see the silvery aura the Slytherin's skin exuded; he played his fingertips through the soft glow, admiring it. A great peace flowed through all his heart and soul. Everything was well, he thought. Everything was alright.

Draco lifted his head, sleepily. He kissed Harry's jaw.

"You've not made love with a veela before," he murmured.

"I've never – " Harry hugged Draco slightly closer. "No, I haven't. Is that… normal with veela? The – the natural lube?"

Draco rumbled with amusement. "Mm hmm. Built-in biological bonus feature. Convenient, mm?"

"Yeah – yeah, it's great. It's awesome."

Draco laughed again, and Harry couldn't help it – he found himself laughing too, shaking with it, his whole heart lightened. He felt giddy. He felt alive in a way he never had before. Suddenly he didn't care about anything beyond the stands, anything back at Hogwarts or beyond – the world didn't need to be any bigger for now. It was just Draco.

The blonde pushed himself up onto his elbows, and looked down at Harry, studying him.

"I come on full heat once a month," he said. "Perhaps more often, as I've just started… and they're going to get stronger."

Harry paused. The thought of only doing this once a month dampened him – he tried not to let it show. Draco caught it in his eyes before he could get rid of it. The Slytherin licked his lips, softening, grey eyes glimmering.

"But I mean, I… if you want to – " Draco bit his lower lip. "Veela are always a little… um, horny. I'll have mini-heats. My hormones… and the heats can linger for weeks – really, I only come _off_ heat once a month – "

Harry grinned. "I'd love to."

Draco's cheeks flushed with pleasure. "Alright. This needs to be… well, our secret."

"You probably woke up most of the castle. I don't think it'll be a secret long."

"I cast a silencing charm over the pitch," Draco confessed. He smiled. "I wanted to talk to you privately. We could fuck all night. No-one would hear a thing."

Newly-awakened parts of Harry's body rather liked this suggestion. He ran his fingertips over the small of Draco's back.

"I think I like sixth year."


	3. After Hours

*****

**Triquetra**_**  
By Mottlemoth**_

*****

**Chapter Three – After-Hours**

Sleeping with a veela, Harry discovered, had wonderful perks.

Worries and troubles seemed to pass like leaves fallen in a stream, borne away on the flow of something much greater. October had come before he knew it. Their initial proposal of once a month, when Draco was on heat, turned out to be something of an underestimation.

Two weeks, they'd had their agreement now - two weeks of the rest of their year panicking over rising amounts of homework, how hard NEWT level seemed, how impossible it was to get everything done. Harry was breezing through; Hermione was amazed. She didn't understand how he was doing it, and neither did Harry - he just suddenly _knew_ what it was that his essay questions wanted to hear. He had an instinct for even Professor McGonagall's complex Transfiguration concepts, and most often his impulses were right. He had a new intuition for treating potions well. They were like lovers, he realised - care, attention, respect, a little luck. Quidditch practices began and Harry soared through the air as if he didn't need the broom. The rest of the team thought Malfoy was loitering in the stands to spy on their techniques for the year.

Even with the upsurge in homework, with Quidditch practices and with extra reading in the library, Harry found time.

They went to Hogsmeade one night, to some backstreet pub Draco knew for drinks and flirting and grinning at each other across the table. They ended up sneaking into an alley on the way home. Harry muffled Draco's mouth with a hand, rocking into him slow and steady against the wall, and Draco arched and moaned and bit at Harry's palm as he came.

They found empty classrooms during lunch. They stole into the astronomy tower one night, spread Harry's cloak beneath the great glass dome, and Draco's glittering silver afterglow put the stars to shame. They dragged each other into cupboards and into the Quidditch showers, and Harry had lost count now.

"Is he getting even hotter?" Ginny said, the first morning of October, squinting across at the Slytherin table.

Hermione nodded. "Draco? Oh - definitely. I know it's silly, but… I almost want to ask him what he's using on his face. It really works."

Harry began to choke on his bagel. Ron rolled his eyes and got up.

"For God's sake, Harry," he said, thumping him hard on the back. "You've got to learn to chew. Don't just swallow."

Harry doubled over, hacking. From the Slytherin table, grey eyes watched with restrained concerned - and from the staff table, black eyes watched with a frown.

The day's classes passed without a problem. Harry was first to the front in Potions, carrying his canister before him in both hands. Snape glanced up, disinterested, and returned to his marking. He then realised. His head jerked up with a noise of surprise.

"Potter." He looked at the canister. "You're finished."

"Yes, sir."

Snape snatched the canister from him. He held it up to the light, studying it, shaking gently to stir the oils and watch them coil together in perfect composition. His eyes widened.

"Potter - is this your work?"

"Yes, sir."

"How much assistance did you receive from Granger?"

"None, sir." Harry smiled; he glanced over to their work area, where Hermione was close to ripping out her hair. She couldn't get the oils to emulsify. "I think she could do with assistance from me, actually."

Hermione glowered from amidst her frazzled hair. Snape stared.

"Well," the professor said. He rallied a frown. "Well, Potter - you have a lab report to write, do you not? I'm not sure why you're loitering up here instead, distracting others."

"It's written, sir."

"It's _written_?"

"Yes, sir." Harry held up his journal. "There weren't any problems, so - "

Snape jerked the book off him, flicking through. Harry waited. Soon the professor had found the right pages, and scanned the lines of tight script, his frown only deepening into his brow with every paragraph.

"Who told you to add two shrivelfigs, not the one?" Snape inquired, sharply. "The textbook specifies one."

Harry blinked. "You mentioned it in second year, sir - to stop a salt and an alkali reacting. I just… remembered. Why? Is it okay?"

Snape stared. "Potter. I'm _highly _concerned."

Harry couldn't help it. He grinned, dazzling at Snape. "Thank you, sir."

Snape shrank back slightly. He snapped Harry's journal shut, and handed it back at arm's length.

"Very well then, Potter. To the library with you."

"What should I research, sir?"

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Surprise me."

*

They met at nine that night by the Quidditch pitch. Draco shimmered in the moon light. As Harry approached, the blonde's whole face softened and he smiled from the depths of his eyes. They kissed, slow and soft, hands wandering. Draco bit his lip with a grin as they drew apart.

"I was worried you weren't coming."

"Ron was suspicious." Harry grabbed his hand. "Come on, let's walk - I've brought chocolate frogs."

"I saw you choking at breakfast, are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. It happens a lot actually. Do you collect the cards?"

It was half ten when the cold became too much for Draco - his skin was more sensitive now, not as immune to temperature change. Harry gave him his jacket. They slipped back in through the doors of the castle, hand-in-hand in the cavernous entrance hall. Draco tugged on his arm.

"Come on," he whispered.

"What?"

"Library - cushioned window-seats." Draco's eyes sparkled. "You can warm me up."

Harry followed, his stomach jumping. They crept in through the library doors, stopping to listen for other couples - there were often lovers in here at night. Unsurprisingly, it was Professor Snape who held the most ferocious reputation for couple-catching. The man had made an art form of spoiling the fun of horny students. Harry didn't want to think about it. Nothing was more guaranteed to give someone a phobia of sex for life than being caught in a carnal stateby Snape.

Fortunately the library seemed empty tonight. No sound came from amidst the shadowy book shelves; the moon's doeful gaze fell through the windows onto complete stillness. They were safe.

Draco, pink-cheeked and grinning, pulled Harry to one of the bay window-seats. There were pillows. They settled down, kissing and fusing, and Draco's fingers were soon fluttering over the buttons of Harry's school-shirt. Harry shivered, catching his hands.

"Really?" he said. "Naked - in the library?"

"Not naked - just want to touch your chest." Draco ploughed ahead with his task. As soon as the final button was undone, he pushed the fabric back from Harry's chest and leant down, nipping at his Gryffindor's neck. His hands soothed over Harry's pectorals. "God - you're so hot - "

Harry's ego swelled. It wasn't the only thing. He grappled for the buttons of Draco's jeans.

Vanilla was soon heavy on the air. Harry now knew there wasn't an inch of his body not coated in Draco's pheromones - they would take years to rub off. He was marked. He was well and truly the belonging of Draco Malfoy. Any other veela for miles would know he was taken, possessed. He liked it. He liked thinking he'd been hunted down and claimed, like a prize. He loved that connection to Draco. Being a part of the other boy. They were bonded, now. It was more than teenage horniness.

As Draco clambered into his lap, their jeans lowered and twisted to their knees, the blonde shivered and paused. He looked around the shaded bookshelves.

"What was that?" he said.

Harry kissed at his lips. "I didn't hear anything."

Draco gave in after a few more gentle kisses. He caught Harry's mouth and their tongues entwined, and Harry forgot all mention of a noise. Draco's body was eased as ever, soft; wet, to accommodate him; and as he gently pushed his way inside, Draco's hands were white-knuckled on his shoulders and he was whimpering faintly.

"Shhh - " Harry kissed him. "Shhh, Dray - "

They began to rock gently. Pleasure roasted through Harry, rising and hot and gentle. Draco's cock rubbed insistently against his stomach. He put his hand on Draco's lower back, beneath his shirt, and he lost himself in the steady rocking of their hips. They were kissing, stroking cheeks and necks and chests, whispering to each other - _feels nice, feels so good. Love you_. There was nothing like an illicit, gentle fuck after-hours. Harry swallowed as he drew closer. He moaned.

And then the wand-light snapped on.

Harry nearly died. He didn't know how he ended up on the floor - the pain in his back suggested he'd either fallen or been shoved from the window ledge. He scrabbled to pull up his jeans. Draco was huddled in the window-seat, covering himself with Harry's jacket, and he was turning very pale.

Harry - already knowing who he would find - lifted his eyes.

Professor Snape stood over them, his wand out and the tip alight. He looked as if he'd never had such a shock in his life. How long the professor had been standing there, Harry didn't know or want to know.

"I - " Snape stared between them, mouthing. "I - "

"It's not what it looks like," Draco tried, limply.

The comment seemed to spark Snape's brain back into life. His eyes sharpened. Anger flitted across his face.

"I see," he hissed, his voice hushed. "Then the pair of you are _not_ having cross-house, homosexual, carnal relations in the library after-hours!"

Harry could feel the lifelong phobia of sex starting already. He cringed. "That's - a really weird way of putting it, professor."

Snape's eyes flared. "You," he spat, leaning down to hold the tip of his wand an inch from Harry's nose, "will be _silent_, Potter. Get yourself properly dressed and do not _speak_ another word. I have _nothing _to say to you."

He then turned on Draco.

"And how can _you _be so completely idiotic?" he said. "For the love of God, Draco - a Gryffindor - _this_ Gryffindor - without even a silencing charm! You can be _seen _from the window! Even the wretched gamekeeper has a front-row view!"

Draco flushed with anger, pulling Harry's coat tighter around himself. "At least the wretched gamekeeper's not snooping around, perving on people - don't you have anything _better_ to do?"

Harry's eyes widened. "Draco, don't - "

Snape wheeled round. "_Did I invite you to speak?!_" he hissed. Harry hung his head, buttoning his mouth. Snape turned back to Draco, his voice very tense. "Need I remind you, Draco, that if you are caught - "

"So _what_?" Draco said. "So what? You're going to put us in detention for having sex? Is it illegal?"

"Being an unregistered part-veela? Why _yes_, Draco. It is."

The little remaining colour ran from Draco's face. "How did - "

"Your pheromones are all over the castle," Snape sneered. He cast a disgusted look towards Harry on the floor. "All over Potter as well, as it happens. At first I thought he'd purchased some, bottled from London, and spilt it over his school books."

His lip curled.

"Though apparently he has the stuff on tap."

Harry struggled to say nothing. He glared at Snape, his jaw tight. Snape wouldn't even look at him.

"If you're caught," the professor said to Draco, his voice low, "and if you're discovered as an unregistered veela, your entire family will be questioned. Your employment prospects plummet. I assume the veela blood comes from Narcissa?"

Draco nodded, numb.

"Then she will be charged," Snape said, "along with any other relatives concealing their heritage. They may be _jailed_, Draco. _Fined_. Publicly shamed. You're risking this for - for a quick _fuck _with Harry-bloody-Potter?"

Harry opened his mouth, furious. Draco got there first.

"He's not a quick fuck!" the blonde snapped. He sat up. "I've picked him - he's the one I've chosen, alright? He's - he's mine now."

"_Draco_ - _!"_ Snape clapped a hand to his forehead. "For the love of - "

"You don't know what it's like!" Draco bristled, enraged. Colour was flushing his face once more, right to his hairline, and Harry could see his shoulders shaking. "What it feels like - _needing_ - and I've picked _this one! _Alright? Whether you like it or not. I've picked _him. _His smell is strongest and I don't care what you or anyone else says."

"Will you care what the Ministry says?" seethed Snape, bearing down on him in the window. Harry got to his feet. "When your entire family is being monitored as dangerous half-breeds? Will you care what the newspapers say, when every single rag-mag from here to Delhi is splattered with - "

Snape shuddered, unable to go on. He glared directly into Draco's eyes.

"You are sixteen," he said. "You don't know a thing about - about _mates_ or sex, or - "

Draco held the glare without a flicker of fear. "You're forty," he said. "And neither do you. I don't see your point, _professor_."

They glowered at each other - blazing, burning, neither backing down. The finest examples of Slytherin House ever to pass through Hogwarts had finally come to blows, and it was spectacular. Harry took a step back, fearing something would catch light.

"My parents," Draco whispered at last, "would appreciate your… discretion. Support. I'm sure their appreciation would be expressed in a variety of pleasant ways."

Snape huffed; his lips curved. "You think your parents will reward me for helping you shag Harry Potter."

"My mother understands this power. The force of it. She knows it's beyond my control."

Draco licked his lips.

"My father, too. They won't care what I shag. So long as I marry something blonde and rich, have our names on the official piece of paper, and she gives birth to something looking like me. I can fall in love with whoever I like."

"It's _Harry Potter, _Draco."

Harry wondered if either would notice if he left. The thought was tempting. He rather wanted to go and cry somewhere, and start drafting a letter to Professor McGonagall explaining why he was dropping Potions effective immediately. He didn't want to be an auror _this_ badly.

Draco smiled slowly, his eyes glittering. "He's Harry Potter and he's _mine_."

There was a long silence. Some silent agreement seemed to be reached between them, something that existed beyond Harry's range of comprehension. Snape straightened up.

"I will protect your reputation, Draco. Out of loyalty to your family, if not approval of your… choice in plaything."

Harry scowled, but didn't speak. At least Snape wasn't marching them straight to Dumbledore - possibly the second person in the world Harry least wanted involved in his sex life, or any sex life at all, for that matter. Harry liked to think that Dumbledore still believed in the stork.

"You must be more careful," Snape said. "If I can catch you, so can Minerva or any other tutor. They will _not_ be so understanding."

"There's nowhere safe for us to go," Draco said. He shifted, glancing at Harry. "We have to… take what we can find."

Snape grimaced slightly, but ironed out the expression.

"Come with me," he said, sharply. "Both of you. Draco, get your - … _where _are your undergarments?"

Draco snatched Harry's coat back round himself. "I don't _wear_ undergarments, thank you. They're inconvenient."

"Oh, for - …" Snape covered his eyes. "Hurry up and dress. At least they aren't strewn over a bookshelf somewhere… Madam Pince works _exceedingly_ hard to keep this library clean and tidy, I hope you appreciate. The two of you should be ashamed for desecrating it."

Harry rolled his eyes, helping Draco to tidy himself up. As he tucked the blonde's shirt in around the back, Draco glanced up at him, coy. He kissed Harry's jaw.

Snape stiffened at the sound.

"_Stop that at once._"

Draco grinned. "Alright - you can look now."

Snape did not look. "Come," he said. "Quickly. Before any more of the castle is subjected to your smut."

He turned on his heel and strode from the library. Harry grabbed his coat from the windowsill, and the two of them followed. Snape led the way down into the dungeons. Harry hesitated for a moment on the threshold. Where exactly were they going? Then Draco tugged his hand, with a little smile, and he decided that if the worst came to the worst, he was faster than Snape and could outrun him.

"If you _must_ degrade yourself with a Gryffindor," Snape said over his shoulder, up ahead in the darkness, "at least let it be somewhere no-one can find out."

He stopped, turning to face a grimy green tapestry hung on the wall. The thing looked as if it hadn't been washed for centuries. Whatever scene it once depicted was long lost to muck and neglect.

"_Endurance is nobler than strength,_" Harry heard Snape say, "_and patience than beauty._"

And a doorway melted into view.

Harry took a step back, un-nerved. He glanced at Draco, who didn't seem to have expected this anymore than he had. Usually, new and hidden places in Hogwarts were a thing of excitement - though they weren't usually so connected to Severus Snape.

"My private rooms," Snape said. He unlocked the door with a tap of his wand. "I trust you paid attention to the ward key. I will not be repeating it."

He pushed the door open. The two boys drew nearer - Draco now eager, Harry more than a little apprehensive.

"You will not touch my books," Snape began. "You will not bend the spines, write in them, breathe on them or reorganise them on the shelf. You will not damage any furnishings in any way whatsoever. You will not rearrange any items of furniture even temporarily. You will not sit in or make any other use of the armchair by the fire, and nor will you so much as attempt the lock on the wine cabinet."

He ushered them inside. It was a lounge, all mahogany and navy furnishings, with several doorways leading to other rooms. Harry had never given any thought to the private rooms of teachers at Hogwarts, but now he knew, he supposed it made sense that they didn't sleep in their offices.

Snape closed the door after them.

"My papers," he said, gesturing at the desk in the corner. "You will not read them. You will not touch my quills, particularly the new ones. You will not bring any food or drink in here. You will not perform any spells unless granted permission by myself. You will not put anything on the coffee table - it is fragile. You will not interfere with the curtains, the wallpaper, or each other on the sofa. There will be no bodily fluids, of _any_ variety, _anywhere _in this room or left on _any_ soft furnishings _anywhere_."

He indicated a door to the left.

" - my study. Out of bounds."

He then rapped his knuckles on the door to the right.

" - the bedroom."

He twisted open the handle, pushed the door wide and snapped his fingers. Torches within flared into life. The bedroom was, to Harry's open-mouthed surprise, very plush and comfortable - the bed was queen-sized at the least. There were more bookshelves in here, and a fireplace.

"The bedroom. This item of furniture here, if neither of you have come across one before, is a _bed_. It is used by normal people to keep all sexual activity contained and controlled, a habit that you would both do well to pick up. This - "

He shuddered, resigning himself.

" - is where you will come to ensure privacy. The cleaning charm is _scourgify,_ and if I suspect for a single moment that it is not being properly utilised…"

He pointed to the final open doorway.

"The bathroom," he finished - then added, rather lamely: "Do not use my shampoo."

"Why would we want to use shampoo that doesn't work?" Draco asked. He sat himself down on the bed, testing the springs with a gentle bounce. "Does reading the books count as touching them?"

Snape covered his face. "I'm going to regret this."

Harry wasn't entirely sure what to say or do. The thought of having sex in Snape's bed made his stomach twist, but the thought of being caught again was worse. The silence lingered and he cleared his throat, then mumbled, not quite looking at Snape,

"Thanks, professor."

"Potter, I believe I've made it abundantly clear I do not wish to speak to you."

This was fine by Harry, who was all too happy to shut up again. He couldn't imagine ever looking Snape in the eye again so long as he lived, let alone speaking to him. He hovered at the end of the bed, looking down at his trainers. He didn't know if they were now meant to leave or not.

Draco, stretched out on his stomach, seemed to be wondering the same thing, but with a lot less awkwardness. He cushioned his head on his folded arms.

"Professor – when are we allowed to use this room?"

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Not when I'm trying to sleep in it. Otherwise, as and when required."

"And are you planning to sleep in it anytime soon?"

Harry felt his cheeks go as red as Ron did whenever Hermione wore tight t-shirts. Snape pinched the bridge of his nose.

"No," he said. "To my sincere reluctance. I need to finish my night's report." Catching the looks on their faces, he added in a tight voice: "The pair of you will be taken out of the report."

"Then the bed's vacant, is it?" Draco murred.

"You aren't on heat now!"

"How do you know, professor? I could be."

"Oh, let me assure you – _Draco_ – I've seen your mother in what I now realize was full heat. Right now, _you_ have nothing more than a mild case of teenage rampancy."

"Mm. But still… you _did_ interrupt us." Draco gazed up at Severus with rather persuasive eyes and the tiniest of smiles. "I don't want to get frustrated. Pent-up. Might be dangerous for me. My hormones are in very delicate balance, professor, as I'm sure you've also seen with my mother..."

Snape took a slow breath. "You have half an hour," he said. "No more. Neither of you are to sleep here."

He then left the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Silently Harry turned to Draco, who rolled over onto his back like a contented Persian. The blonde stretched a little, smiling.

"Come here," he murmured.

"I'm – not hugely horny at the minute, actually. Can't think why."

"I can fix that for you."

"Don't you think this is weird?"

"No?" Draco eased open the only fastened button of his shirt – sinuously he slipped himself from the fabric. The milky white of his bare chest against Snape's navy sheets was undeniably alluring. "We have the time and the place and the need… so come here."

He bit his lip.

"Ten minutes," he promised. "If you're not relaxed by then, we'll wipe his memory and go."

Harry hesitated. The scent of vanilla was now heavy on the air. He couldn't disobey it.

"Alright," he agreed. "Ten minutes."

Twenty-five minutes passed.

Draco had never made any attempt to be quiet; now even Harry was finding it hard to suppress. The sheets and pillows were strewn everywhere. Draco threw his head back in a shower of white-blonde, gripping Harry's shoulders tighter, riding hard – he was moaning, crying, sobbing. He was beautiful.

"Fuck_ – harder_ – oh Harry, _fuck_…!"

The bed shook. On each slam of their hips, the headboard knocked into the wall and the mattress springs groaned with delight, and Harry prayed Snape had some kind of silencing charms around his quarters. It was too good to stop and check. He dug his fingertips into Draco's hips, shuddering – not long now. He couldn't hold it. Triangling his feet on the bed, bending his knees, he pushed up harder and faster and Draco started to howl.

"_Yes – _fuck, just there - …!"

_Now_ – he couldn't wait another second – he slammed Draco down and thrust up at the same time, and every muscle in his body wound tight. His nerves suddenly blazed, white-hot. He screwed his eyes tight shut. Stars wiped away his mind.

When reality returned, everything seemed to be pulsing. Draco laid against his chest, aglow. The part-veela's skin burnt to the touch.

Harry panted. It was all he could do.

They couldn't stay here all night – Snape's patience had probably been tested enough as it was. There was only so far they could push the man. They dressed, quickly. Draco kept interrupting for kisses, touches, wanting to be held and doted on. Harry did his best to oblige, as much as he wanted to leave here very quickly.

As they emerged from the bedroom, post-cleaning charms, Snape was sitting at his desk.

Harry had never seen anyone write so determinedly. Snape's grip on the pen was white-knuckled. His head was low, his jaw set, and the line of his shoulders could have supported a full shelf of books.

"Professor?" Draco nestled into Harry's side. "We're done."

Snape shuddered. "Yes. Yes, I surmised as much."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," Snape bit out. Harry wondered how his pen hadn't snapped in two. "Now _leave_, both of you. Before I kill all three of us and never have to think of this again."

Draco licked his lips. "Professor?"

"What? What the bloody hell is it now, Malfoy?"

"I'll give you five galleons to get out from behind that desk."

Snape broke. "_Out!_" he raged, and seized his desk tidy in one hand.

Harry and Draco ran. They heard the desk tidy hit the back of the door, before the stone surged and devoured the wood. The bricks realigned. The corridor fell silent.

"Did we dream all that?" Harry asked.

Draco kissed the side of his neck. "Best wet dream I've ever had. Same time tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow's a bit… cheeky. I don't really want to push it." Harry shifted, trying not to think about the tension he'd seen in Snape's entire body, the spots of colour on his livid cheeks. "The poor guy's probably torn a hole through his trousers already."

Draco's eyes glittered. "He doesn't have to listen," he mused. He licked Harry's jaw. "Or we could invite him to join in. Save his trousers."

Harry laughed. "Like that's going to happen."


	4. Conquering Severus

*****

**Triquetra**_**  
By Mottlemoth**_

*****

**Chapter Four – Conquering Severus**

At first, Harry avoided using Snape's rooms as much as possible – even the lure of Draco couldn't ease his discomfort. There was something undeniably wrong about waltzing into what was, after all, the professor's home, and having a lot of sex on his bed. He tried to imagine how he'd feel if there were people shagging on _his_ bed, either with or without him present, and it made his stomach slightly queasy. He supposed Snape _had_ invited them. He'd agreed. All the same – it wasn't Harry's favourite place in the world.

Draco, on the other hand, would quite happily have moved in.

"You're all tense," he murmured one night, after dragging a protesting Harry down to the dungeons and in through the concealed door. They were sitting on the bed in the dark, kissing – though Draco was doing most of the kissing. "What's wrong? Are you mad with me?"

"No – no, it's okay. It's just... it's strange here."

Draco began to unbutton his shirt. "Don't feel strange – he did offer. He could have given us his office, if he wanted. An old classroom."

Harry hadn't considered this. He said nothing, wondering. Draco pushed off his shirt and rubbed along his shoulders, hungrily.

"I think he likes having us here," he whispered in Harry's ear. He licked the lobe. "He likes listening to us. He likes the scent."

"Gross, Dray – "

"The _pheromones_." Draco's thumbs brushed his nipples, a cool and gentle shock of a touch. "He likes them... he likes having them all over his bed."

"The..." Harry's head whirled. "He can smell you?"

"Mm."

"Doesn't that mean – "

"It does. He likes you, too. He watches you in Potions and you haven't got a clue." Draco pushed him back against the pillows. "So don't go feeling sorry for Severus. He _loves_ this. Now shut up and fuck me."

Afterwards, spooned into Draco in the dark as the blonde napped, Harry's head was full of thoughts. Only a few of them were unwelcome. He hugged Draco a little tighter, closing his eyes momentarily.

When he woke up, an indeterminate amount of time later, he could smell something new. Draco's pheromones were finally so commonplace to him that he could distinguish other scents at last. He tilted his head, pressing his nose into Severus's pillows. He inhaled slowly.

Books, he thought. Old books. Old books and old aftershave, something with a tang, and freshly-laundered cotton. Severus's natural scent was a musk, something low and a little dark, distinguished, ferally enticing. It was a scent that said, _the older man_.

It was nice.

The bedroom door opened – light fell across the bed, and Harry jumped. Snape did too.

"Oh – " The professor's teeth gritted, covering his eyes. "Did I not specifically state _no sleeping_? Up. Get up."

Harry poked Draco awake, then hurried to retrieve their clothes from the side of the bed. Draco stirred and complained, sleepily. He burrowed tighter under the covers.

"Oh no, Mr Malfoy. I have my limits and you have crossed them." Snape wrenched back the sheets, ignoring Draco's cries of protest. "Up, this _instant_. I've spent the past six hours of my life herding Hufflepuff detainees around the forest collecting Jumping Nettles and I'm _damned_ if I'll be sleeping on the sofa."

"You could just get in," Draco suggested, staring up naked from the professor's mattress.

Snape's eyes narrowed to slits. "Leave. _Now_."

Harry couldn't help but notice the flush of his cheeks as they left. The next morning, Snape arrived late to breakfast - he didn't seem to have had much sleep.

One lunchtime, through curiosity, Harry took a brief tour of the dungeons. He found no less than five abandoned or disused classrooms, each perfectly lockable, and one even had an old sofa stored in the corner. The room was cold, but surely Snape hadn't factored such a thing into consideration when picking a place for them to hide. Warming charms were very simple. If Harry had been forced at wand-point to let people have sex in either his bedroom or an old classroom he knew of, it would definitely have been the latter.

He tried not to think too deeply about it. This situation was mad enough already.

All the same – Harry found it easier and easier to adjourn to Snape's bedroom, after that.

Draco delighted in his new enthusiasm. Three days out of five, at the very least, Harry found himself in Snape's rooms at some point. It wasn't long before Draco had enticed him into breaking the ground rules about no sofa, no armchair and no desk. Snape's bath was too small for two, though they tried all the same. Harry doubted he would ever have so much sex again in his life.

As the second week of October began, Draco's hormones cooled and he didn't seem as rampant as usual. He wanted to talk and to cuddle a lot, tearing up once or twice, and sex was postponed. The grounds were now too cold to walk in at night. They raided Honeydukes and took their hoard home, nestled on Snape's sofa under the duvet to keep warm. They fed each other sweets and talked. Draco's skin began to glow.

This was how Snape found them three nights in a row. He said nothing each time, though seemed quite alarmed to find them not having sex. The sweets earned a frown but no rebuke.

On the third night, Draco stirred and looked over the back of the sofa as Snape arrived.

"Would you like a chocolate frog, professor?" he asked.

Snape's expression was unreadable. He took the offered packet. "Thank you, Mr Malfoy."

"We're going to play Exploding Snap later – do you want to join in?"

"Eh. No thank you." For the briefest second, Snape's eyes flitted to Harry, who felt his stomach clench. "I'm sure you can have adequate fun by yourselves."

"But it's more fun with more players," Draco said.

Snape disappeared into the bedroom without another word. He then locked himself in the bathroom for what seemed like a particularly long shower. Harry stroked Draco's hair, listening to the pulse of the water, wondering.

Things hit a peak two days later in Potions.

Harry decided it was a credit to himself that, despite the intensity of his personal life, he was still on schedule with his schoolwork. His focus in class did not slip. He'd even trained himself to stop looking at Draco in Potions, worried that if he spent his time staring, something would go wrong. For reasons he couldn't quite fathom, he didn't want to fail Snape's class anymore.

But accidents still happened.

The contents of Harry's cauldron emitted a great hiss and a cloud of smoke, and began spitting wildly in a metre radius. He lurched away. Acid spattered his hands and face. There were screams. Someone's desk crashed to the floor as they fought to escape the spitting potion. Harry hit the floor – pain suddenly blazed across his face, and he yelled. Snape was there in a heartbeat.

"Potter – "

Harry could feel his skin begin to blister. He dug his fingers into Snape's arms, shaking with the pain, howling as the class crowded round. Panic reigned somewhere beyond Harry's consciousness.

"Granger, get acromantula root into that cauldron – throw from a distance until it stops spitting – do _not _inhale the fumes – Merridew, the pale bottle in my desk drawer, _now!!_"

Harry could hear Hermione and the others battling to stop his cauldron spraying acid – it sounded so far away. The pain wiped his other senses. He clung to Snape, the only thing that seemed close at all. Tears sprung in his eyes.

"Potter, stay conscious – keep your eyes _shut_, do you understand me? _Merridew, the bottle!!_"

People were coughing now, choking. The acrid odour of rotting tin reached Harry's nose. The pain was becoming intolerable – he screwed his eyes as tight as he could, his whole body seething as the acid hissed its way through his skin. Snape's arms dragged about his torso, lifting him.

"_Out!_" he heard the professor shout over the choking of his classmates, the wild boiling of the cauldron. "_Everyone out now!!_"

Harry was lifted from the stone. He lolled against Snape like a puppet, feeling his strength begin to deplete under the enslaught of pain.

Then he heard Draco's voice nearby, clear above the screams.

"Merridew's run – he's gone – here. I've got it."

There was a clink.

"Two hundred points to Slytherin," Snape said, hoisting Harry into his arms. "Get to the door."

Harry held tight to Snape. They headed for the exit as fumes consumed the classroom.

The cold air of the corridor stung Harry's burns as Snape laid him down against the stone floor. He could hear the rest of the class coughing and hacking around him, and Draco was at his side, gripping his hand.

"Brace, Potter – cold – "

What felt like iced water rained onto Harry's face, splashing into his hair and across the floor. The pain ebbed at once. He sobbed with relief. Snape doused Harry's hands with the rest of the bottle, hauling up his sleeves to get to his wrists.

"Get Pomfrey," he heard Snape say. Draco struggled to his feet and ran. Harry wanted to cry out, beg him not to go.

Snape was leaning over him now. Cool hands cupped his face, resting on his blistered burns. The gentleness of the touch took Harry's breath away. He swallowed, panting, and Snape was murmuring. Harry listened – it was Latin.

He felt cool tingles rise from within his blood to flitter over his cheeks and his forehead, soothing his scorched face. The panic began to ease in his chest. The Latin poured from Snape in a gentle stream - hushing, almost tender. Harry lost himself; it washed him away. As the scars began to heal, his skin knitting itself back into place, he took a long breath in.

Snape's scent filled his lungs – the same scent as on the man's books, his couch, his bed.

It made Harry feel impossibly safe. He shuddered, realising something monumental. Snape's voice seemed falter for the slightest moment, then flowed on.

By the time Madame Pomfrey arrived, he was well enough to be pronounced unharmed. The burns were gone. He blinked through blurry eyes, as Draco and Snape and Hermione swam into focus.

"Can you see, Harry?" Snape said, interrupting Hermione's words of concern – she blinked.

Harry stared at the professor. His heart hammered.

"Yeah," he managed. "Yeah, I can."

*

The weekend came – and with it, Draco's first full-strength heat.

It started on Friday afternoon. Draco left Transfiguration early with a sudden fever, and what he said was an upset stomach. Harry did his best to look as if he didn't care. At dinner, Draco was flushed and on edge, his eyes strangely dark and intense – Harry could see the tension in his upper arms even from across the hall. When Pansy Parkinson picked a stray hair off his shoulder, Draco jerked as if he'd received an electric shock and nearly punched the boy next to him. Pansy shrank backwards as he snapped at her, affronted. He then left the hall at speed.

Harry helped Ron with Charms homework until seven, when he couldn't stand the worry anymore. He said something about seeing Professor McGonagall and hurried from the common room, heading straight for the dungeons.

Snape looked up from his desk as Harry appeared in the lounge.

"Is Draco here?" Harry said, nervously.

Snape frowned. "Not to my knowledge – unless the two of you have taken to hide-and-seek, as well as Exploding Snap."

"I think he's ill. He looked really edgy at dinner and left Transfiguration with a fever... I thought he'd be here..."

Snape put aside his marking, rising from his desk. "I shall check the dormitories," he said. "Wait here."

It was a few minutes before he returned. Harry sat up for news.

"His heat is starting," Snape said, reseating himself at his desk. "He seems to have a powerful one coming – it should break before dawn. He's in for an arduous and probably difficult weekend."

Harry hesitated. "Doesn't he... need me?"

"Not at the moment." Snape picked up his quill again, as if this conversation could not be more normal. "This is his first usual heat, after the initial trial-run in September... full heats begin with several hours of high fever, hyper-sensitivity and an extreme desire to be left alone. He won't want to see anyone for several hours. He may even become aggressive, should you try."

"Oh – okay." Harry shifted. "How long will this bit last?"

"Usually less than twelve hours. It could be as soon as one. He'll develop the overpowering urge to mate when the fever passes, and that stage will last around two days. I recommend you be close-at-hand, Potter. The, ah... mating will probably be continual and vigorous."

Harry's cheeks darkened. "Alright..." He sat down on the sofa, uncomfortable, and toed off his shoes. "Can I... help with your marking or something?"

Snape regarded him for several seconds, then pointed to a nearby stool.

"Pull up a seat, Potter. You may transfer the marks to my records. I don't expect any interruptions."

Harry drew the stool up to Snape's desk, sitting down. He picked up the bundle of essays and a spare quill, awkwardly. He glanced at Snape – the man's face was settled once more into concentration as he read. Harry began transferring.

They worked in companionable silence for the better part of an hour, until Snape pushed away from his desk.

"I need to drink," he said. He disappeared into the bedroom.

When he returned, he had two glasses of wine. One was set down in front of a startled Harry, who picked it up in both hands.

"Thanks, professor." He hesitated. "Isn't this illegal?"

Snape frowned. "If supplying alcohol to a minor is all I go to jail for this year, I'll be a very lucky man."

Point taken, Harry drank. The wine heated his throat, winding its way down into his stomach, and he ran his tongue over his lips. It had a dark taste, insistent and silky. Snape was watching him.

"Good?" Snape said.

Harry drank from the glass again. "It's nice. It doesn't taste like the wine I've had at the Weasleys' Christmas parties."

Snape huffed. "I doubt Molly Weasley laces her wine with multiple male orgasm draft."

"Multiple - ?" Harry realised. His hands seized around the glass. "You've _drugged_ me?"

"You'll thank me, Potter. Finish the glass."

It was definitely the strangest year of his school life, Harry decided. He hadn't realised growing up would happen this quickly. He downed the rest of the glass.

They marked on in silence, until with a low rumble the far wall began to melt. Harry glanced up; Snape went still beside him. The doorway appeared from the stone and swung open, admitting their visitor.

Draco stepped into the room. He was dressed in pajama bottoms and his school shirt, and his cheeks were ablaze. His eyes held the same intensity as earlier, though his face was softer now, and an overwhelming wave of vanilla scent instantly filled the room. Upon spotting Harry, the blonde shivered from head-to-toe – he looked half-desperate.

"Oh thank God," he whimpered, hurrying across the room. "Thank God you're here."

Harry didn't have time to move before he was leapt upon, shoved off his stool and pinned back against the wall. Draco's mouth descended on his open lips. The blonde kissed him furiously, gasping into his mouth as if Harry was the remaining source of oxygen in the world. Harry meanwhile struggled for air and for freedom. Without the slightest care about Snape, sitting next to them and watching aghast, Draco reached down and grasped Harry firmly between the legs. He squeezed hard.

"Fuck me," he whined into Harry's mouth. He shuddered and began to undo Harry's jeans. "Please. Please, _please – _God – I _need_ - ..."

Harry yelped as Draco's hand pushed its way down the front of his shorts, squeezing his cock. Snape leapt to his feet.

"_Bed!_" he cried, grabbing Draco by the scruff of the neck. "_Not_ here! Off, get _off_ Potter – "

He hauled Draco across the room. Draco twisted in his grip, panting hard, his hands seeking over Snape's chest even as he was shoved through the door into the bedroom.

"Professor – " he moaned. He shuddered bodily and pushed onto his toes, trying to kiss Snape. "Severus, please – you too – "

Harry's heart was pounding against the front wall of his chest. He watched Snape's attempt at resistance, pushing Draco away and snapping some rebuke which went ignored.

Harry wished he knew why the sight didn't make him jealous – only ever more aroused.

"_Potter!_" Snape raged, now holding Draco's at arm's length and fighting off his attentions. "Potter, don't just _stand_ there! Get yourself over here and deal with this!"

Harry's brain blinked back to life. He hurried over, easing between them and sliding his arms over Draco's chest, around his back.

"Dray – Dray, come on. I'm here."

Draco clung to him. "_Harry – _" He began to pull Harry back towards the bed. "Oh Harry – we have to – _now_, oh God, _please_ – "

Snape slammed the door after them.

Even as Draco ripped at their clothing, grasping deliriously at Harry's body and shuddering with want, Harry's head was elsewhere. It was outside with Snape and his marking. Was Snape even marking anymore? How could he concentrate? Draco was crying and mewling with every touch now, pleading with Harry to fuck him. How did Snape listen to this? Did he really just sit and pretend it wasn't happening?

Draco was even louder than usual. He was desperate, barely human, aroused to a state of near-madness. The sounds coming from his throat only grew more and more animal as the minutes passed. Harry tried to take his time, tried to calm Draco down for fear of the other boy injuring himself, but the caution was not a welcome gesture – Draco's aggression was beyond resistance.

He snarled, shoving Harry back against the bed and pinning him down. Harry struggled against his grip.

"Dray – _Dray_, take it easy – !" He panted, his chest rising and falling fast as Draco hauled his wrists above his head to the slatted headboard. "You'll hurt yourself!"

Draco ignored him. "_Bindus_," he snarled, and magical cords flew from the headboard, wrapping tight around Harry's wrists and knotting in place. Harry swallowed hard. He jerked against the bonds; they held fast.

"Dray – let me out – "

Draco drew back, shivering with satisfaction, and stared down at his now naked and restrained boyfriend. The silver eyes flared. He wrapped his hand around Harry's cock; Harry's hips jerked upwards involuntarily.

"D-Dray, no – you're not relaxed – "

Draco held him tight in one fist, stirring to straddle Harry's hips. He ran his tongue over his lips with a quiver.

"Draco – "

Draco brought the head of Harry's cock to his entrance, pressing there – Harry struggled to keep breathing at the pressure of heat and wet and soft. He pulled at his bonds.

"Draco, don't – " he begged, but Draco ignored him. The blonde pushed down, guiding Harry's swollen cock inch-by-inch into the oiled heat of his body. Harry choked. "Dray, go slow – "

Draco did not stop until Harry's entire prick had sunk into his body and their hips came flush. The blonde then stirred, settling, and gripped Harry's shoulders. He was biting at his lower lip, rolling it between his teeth, shivering all over.

"Mmhm – " he moaned. His body clenched around Harry, wrenching a gasp from his tied lover. Draco then began to rock. "Nnh – "

Harry could do nothing. He grasped at thin air, watching as Draco fucked himself on Harry's cock and his vocalisations grew ever louder – whines, mewls, moaning and snarling and crooning with delight as he rode. The blonde reached down, grasping his own swollen erection in one hand. He stroked himself. Wetness was already glistening at the head, dripping, and Harry didn't know if Snape had been joking about the continual vigorous mating. He doubted it.

The better part of two hours later, as Draco clawed at his back, shuddering and whining in his sixth climax of the night, Harry made a mental note. Snape didn't tell jokes.

He wondered if it was possible to die from sex. Dying from exhaustion, maybe. He hadn't made a will. _To Mr Ronald Weasley, I leave my subscription to Quidditch Monthly. To Professor Severus Snape, I leave my insatiably horny half-veela – may he have better luck than I did._

As Draco came down, quivering all over, Harry watched and waited. He didn't know if this was it. After the previous five, Draco had been demanding a repeat within seconds. Harry's biceps felt like rock, and he suspected no amount of cleaning charms would ever make any difference to poor Snape's sheets.

"Alright?" he tried, gently, and Draco shivered.

"Mm hmm." The silver eyes fluttered open; a little hazy grin. "Mm, perfect..."

"Oh, you can speak again. Awesome."

"Oh Harry, you're so good to me..." Draco stirred, weaving his fingers into Harry's hair – his legs squeezed around Harry's waist. "You're not finished..."

"I-I'm okay – I don't think I've got another one in me."

"You have to finish," Draco whimpered, drawing him close, and rocked his hips. "Please... want you to feel good. Want you to finish."

"You sure? You're not going to get hot again?"

"N-no. Promise." Draco kissed at his jaw. "Please."

Harry gave in – he'd been holding off for the past two, worried he might pass out. He didn't fancy being carried naked to the hospital wing by Snape, with a delirious Draco running after them trying to have sex with Snape's leg.

As he began to rock, sheathing himself gently in and out of Draco's tired body, his boyfriend shivered. He began to stroke the back of Harry's neck.

"Yes," he crooned, and kissed Harry's temple. "Yes, that's it..."

Harry closed his eyes, burying his face in Draco's neck. He inhaled. Draco's pheromones buzzed through his body, hot and sweet and comforting, and he allowed himself a tight moan. Draco still felt like heaven – just as tight, as hot, now wet with two hours of exhaustive sex. Harry so wanted to sleep. He let his mind relax, let the sensations take over, sliding his cock rhythmically in and out of Draco's body. The blonde petted his shoulder blades, his back, murmuring.

"Scratched you," Draco whispered. Harry could feel the specks of blood dabbed on his back. "Sorry, love."

Harry thought to say it was alright – he didn't mind. Speech, though, was beyond him. He managed a moan and drove a little faster, swallowing. Draco coaxed him into a kiss.

The heat was consuming him. It was all so much – Draco, two hours, the softness of the mattress, the scent of Severus on the sheets. Severus next door, listening. Listening to Draco scream with pleasure in the fit of his heat. Severus next door now, listening to Harry finish. Maybe loosening his collar, rubbing his neck. Sliding a hand down to massage the bulge in his trousers.

Harry choked, shuddering, and white engulfed him. He poured himself into Draco, his whole body pounding. Draco held him tight and whispered him through, hushing him, soothing him.

Afterwards, Harry barely had the strength to get off. He slid limply to the side, panting, and Draco burrowed close to him. Their arms and legs entwined. Sleep, Harry thought – just for a little while. His eyes slid out of focus.

When he next awoke, the lamps were on and someone was standing by the bed. Snape was there, holding a dog-eared novel and dressed in his nightclothes, and he was not impressed.

"Up," he said. "Wake up, the pair of you. This is unacceptable."

Harry groaned, tightening his hold on Draco's soft, naked body. Draco quivered slightly. "Please, professor," Harry managed. "Five more minutes..."

"Absolutely not. It is past midnight, Potter. I need my rest and, in case you've forgotten, this is _my_ bed. Now up and dressed, the pair of you – I'm sure you're both 'shagged out' for one night."

Harry could barely move, let alone think about getting dressed. "No – please..."

"Right." Snape reached for the sheets. "_Up_, I said – and up you will get! You have precisely _thirty seconds_ before – "

Draco's voice came from near Harry's ear.

"For God's sake, Severus," he mumbled. He pushed tighter to Harry, making room. "Just get in the bed."

"I – " Snape was thoroughly disarmed, for what looked like the first time in his life. "I beg your pardon."

"You heard me. Get in the bed – stop resisting the irresistible." Draco yawned. "Don't let the warmth out."

Harry opened his eyes. Snape was still standing by the side of the bed – all the irritation had gone from his face. He was completely silent, almost vulnerable. More humanity was etched in his features than Harry had ever seen before, and it looked as if Snape hadn't been propositioned in a very, very long time.

They met eyes.

Harry didn't speak. Draco had said all that was needed. He laced his fingers into Draco's hair, gently, waiting for Severus's next move. He didn't dare to hope. This was intense – maybe too intense.

Severus looked away. His hand moved, uncertainly, from the sheets to the bedside lamp. He hesitated.

Then the light snapped out.

Suddenly Harry didn't feel so sleepy. Draco, too, was no longer dozing – his fingers flexed, ever so gently, against the middle of Harry's back. There was only silence and the pitch blackness, and the feel of the covers stirring as Severus laid down beside them. Stillness came. Harry waited – terrified, knowing, hoping.

A hand brushed his side in the darkness. He shifted and his heart contracted.

Then another mouth met his own; tender lips and the faintest stroke, testing him, gentling him before they sealed. Harry realised after several seconds that it was Severus.

He slid his hands into the older man's hair with a shudder; Severus pushed him deep into the pillows. His mouth was burning hot and so _powerful_, so slow, so firm. The hand at Harry's side was Draco; he was watching them kiss.

"F-fuck," Harry heard him whisper, as the next surge of the heat took over.

They stripped Severus in the darkness. The older man shuddered as they did, sharing restless kisses with each and stroking their backs, their rears, letting out a moan when Draco began to rub his stomach and lower. Harry felt weak with excitement – the two of them, here, their scents all over him. Severus was stroking his arse, fingers shaking. He was nuzzling at Harry's lips for kisses, his breath over Harry's cheeks. The air began to burn.

The kisses deepened, touches bolder and questing, more intimate. As they bonded together, arousal growing together, Draco began to de-evolve. He shivered constantly and his cheeks were flushed. He pulled the two of them closer, tighter, moaning under their hands and freeing them of their nerves, too excited to be afraid.

Soon he was whimpering and begging with the feral urge to mate, pushing any hand he could get hold of between his legs, crying out whenever he got Harry to ease his fingers inside. He tugged at their cocks fervently, whining in the back of his throat. Severus was panting hard, slick with sweat and shaking – but he was resisting. Even now Harry felt him holding back.

"Are you okay?" he managed in Severus's ear, even as the older man bit and sucked at his neck and Draco writhed against them, pleading.

"My – my job, I – this is _monstrous_ of me to – "

"It's a secret." Harry twisted his head up and kissed him, hard, their tongues warring. As Draco began to fist at his cock, Harry choked and broke the kiss. He gripped Severus's hair, staring into the fearful black eyes. "Our secret. Promise."

Desperate and ignored, Draco let out a high-pitched noise. He tried to worm his way between them, grasping at their hands. Severus's eyes focused; a decision was reached.

"You take the top half," he whispered to Harry, and licked his lower lip. "Hold him down. I'll handle the other end. A little rough might cool his ardour."

At first Draco resisted being pinned. He snarled and mewled and kicked a little, convinced they were trying to calm him down. He bit Harry, just once, before Harry took the initiative of kneeling over his chest and holding his wrists to the bed with one hand. Draco sobbed, angry and frustrated, begging to be released in his animalistic noises. The heat in Harry's stomach swelled. He took his cock in hand, guiding towards Draco's mouth.

"Shhh, love." He nudged Draco's lips. "Suck and you'll feel better. Promise."

Draco acquiesced and swallowed him down, mumbling – he gagged a little in his haste but kept going, sucking, sated. Harry shivered, holding the white blonde head to his groin. He glanced over his shoulder.

Severus had paused to watch. Now he crawled to them once more, and kissed Harry's bare shoulder, running a hand over his back.

"Excellent work, Mr Potter," he whispered.

"Oh God. This shouldn't be so hot."

"_Carpe diem_." Snape eased round to kneel between Draco's legs, sliding his palms up the blonde's thighs to part them, and Draco choked in the back of his throat. He began to suck Harry twice as hard. "Oh, Draco... you little slut. Soaking wet."

Draco whined eagerly. Even Harry couldn't repress a groan.

Severus leant low to kiss the inside of Draco's knee. "I imagine you spend most of your time like this, wanton boy," he murmured. "Wet and desperate to be fucked."

Draco moaned his agreement, spreading his legs wider.

"Mm..." Severus shifted – he slid his hips between Draco's spread thighs, easing into position. "Let's see if I can slake you, mm?"

He shoved inside, one quick and merciless thrust. Draco cried out around Harry's cock. Harry's head fell forward, gasping out, "Fuck – "

Severus hummed low in his throat, as if tasting an exquisite wine. He sheathed himself slowly.

"Mm..." He sighed. "Tighten for me, Draco. Mould to me."

Harry was already on the verge of coming like a fountain. He couldn't imagine what this was doing to Draco. Judging by the noises, it was doing an awful lot. Severus shuddered slowly as Draco's body clenched to accommodate him.

"Mm, good boy." He leant forwards, kissed the back of Harry's neck and began to thrust. "Devilish boys."

Draco's moan of concurrence hitched at the first slam, heightening into an urgent whimper. His throat tightened around Harry's cock. Harry stroked his hair back, messing the soft blonde strands, encouraging him to suck.

Draco came first – Harry felt it some moments before it happened, now an expert in the art of Draco's climaxes. He heard the sudden increase in the pace of the blonde's breathing, caught the flush across his collarbones, and he cupped Draco's head in his hands. Draco gagged on Harry's cock. He let out a little cry, tightening, then howled as climax seized him in its grasp. He struggled beneath them and thrashed. His whole body jerked.

Harry held out – he didn't know how. Perhaps some still sane part of his head didn't want Draco to choke, or he'd now come so many times he could control it. Whatever the reason, he managed to hold back. He slid his still-hard cock from between Draco's gasping lips, easing off his lover's chest.

Draco exhaled; he laid debauched and tousle-haired, spread across Severus's bed. "Y-You two are animals," he whimpered.

Harry grinned, still shivering. "Then you're in good company."

"I'd have to agree with that." Severus exhaled and stirred, sliding himself from Draco's exhausted body. Draco moaned faintly at the withdrawal. Severus was still hard, coated in Draco's natural lubrication. He brushed back a handful of his hair, and said,

"On your back then, Potter. I don't think we're quite finished here."

Harry swallowed. He tried to ignore the irrepressible heat the comment stirred between his legs. "I... I don't take."

Severus's eyes burnt. "Oh?"

"N-no. It's not my kind of thing."

"How unfortunate," Severus said. "Then you shan't enjoy this one bit."

He crawled towards Harry, pushing him onto his back without hesitation. Harry's protests went ignored. Severus bent down to lathe a long lick between his collarbones, pinning him gently in place.

"Lie back and think of England, Harry. If you want something to scream, 'Severus' is the preferred option, but any overlooked syllables will be forgiven just this once."

Harry didn't understand how this could be turning him on and terrifying him at once. He tried to calm the frantic beating of his heart as Severus pushed open his legs, leaning down to kiss at his inner thighs.

"L-Look – take it easy, alright?" he managed. "I don't come ready-lubed... a-and I've never - "

The older man glanced up from between Harry's thighs.

The hard knot of fear in Harry's stomach eased at once, on seeing Severus's eyes. They held a softness so unlike Snape's usual manner that it took his breath away. He could see straight through, for the first time, and found himself taken aback by the gentleness he saw. There was nothing but tenderness underlying Severus's dominance. The professor knew exactly what he was doing; he knew Harry was scared witless; he knew how much he was being trusted with, and the black eyes were full of promises.

In years to come, Harry would look back on this moment. This moment, he realised, was probably why they fell in love – why it wasn't just sex, why the threesome hadn't lasted a night and ended in the morning. They were doomed from that moment. He couldn't walk away from those eyes; it was impossible.

Severus kissed the tip of Harry's rock-hard cock, and Harry quivered, trying not to think.

"You're in safe hands," the professor whispered. Harry believed it completely; he let go.

Severus's hands transpired to be so much more than merely safe – they were wicked. They were wonderful. They were patient and gentle, as three fingers sought through Harry and stretched him, as they waited for the initial pain to ease. They were tender, carding through his hair to comfort. They were cruel, teasing him with touches and caresses and taking them away until he begged to Severus's satisfaction. They were divine.

When Harry came, choking and sobbing, his only sensations were of Severus's fingers knotted tight with his own, and the quiet realisation in the back of his head that this was not the last and only time he was fucked by Severus Snape.

When all was said and done, they laid in the dark together as a three – Severus in the middle on his back, Draco and Harry snuggled at either side. Quiet fell. Draco was glowing brightly enough to just illuminate the canopy overhead, and Severus was staring up at it, thinking. His eyes followed the intricate weaved pattern. Harry watched him.

"Okay?" he asked at last, and Severus glanced his way.

"Mm. A little appalled at myself. I really did think I had it in me to resist."

Draco huffed into his opposite shoulder. "Was only a matter of time," he yawned and stretched, twining his ankles with Harry's. "Don't feel bad, Severus. We _are_ very sexy."

"Do I need to tell you both how completely secret this must remain? My position as a teacher would be, eh... somewhat jeopardised, if this were to become common knowledge."

"The secret's safe with us," Draco murmured, sleepily. He lifted his head. "If people found out, we'd have to stop. I won't be risking that."

He leant up to Severus. Harry watched with a swoop in his stomach as they kissed, tongues stroking between their lips – then Draco moved to Harry. He could taste Severus on Draco's lips. Severus himself leant to Harry next, brushing a finger under his chin, and Harry felt his heart tingle with the magic of this first kiss goodnight.

They settled together, no more said. Severus's fingers were tracing a pattern on Harry's lower back. Draco's hand laid over Harry's, resting atop Severus's heart.

Harry started thinking of it as Severus Day as early as next morning, when Severus brought them pastries in bed. They met regularly after that, as a three. It wasn't the same without Severus anymore. So it had been for five months now.

And Harry wasn't prepared to lose it – no matter how much they were threatened with.


	5. A Half Glass of the Red

*****

**Triquetra**

_**By Mottlemoth**_

*****

**Chapter Five – A Half-Glass of the Red**

In light of the letter, Harry and Draco agreed on a staggered arrival to the dungeons. Harry was the first to arrive, a few minutes after eight. He pressed his hands to the patch of wall by the tattered green tapestry.

"_Endurance is nobler than strength_," he whispered, "_and patience than beauty_."

The concealed doorway melted out of the aged stone. He let himself into the gloomy lounge, closing the door behind him, and the walls sucked inwards to hide the entrance. He settled down on the sofa to wait. A few minutes passed before the wall re-liquefied to admit company.

Upon stepping into the lounge, Severus's first action was to slip off the top layer of his robes and cast them over the back of the armchair, as if he hadn't noticed Harry sitting there. Harry knew better. The older man disappeared through a door into the bedroom, re-emerging after a minute or two without collar or cuffs or waistcoat. He carried with him a bottle and three glasses.

"The question is this," he said, placing a glass in front of Harry and uncorking the bottle. "Why should the letter be sent to you, and not to Draco?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know."

"It links to motive," Severus said. He poured Harry a half-glass of the red – Harry wasn't as much of a fan as wine as Draco, but he wouldn't say no. "Of course, we can ascertain no motive until further communication has taken place. Your blackmailer wishes to gain something. When we know what it is, we'll be in a better position to identify them."

"Do you… think it's money?" Harry was prepared to pay. He knew Draco was, as well.

"If it is, you have serious cause for concern. Particularly Draco."

"What do you mean?"

"The Malfoy family are not coy about their wealth. A blackmailer is also likely to assume your fame has come hand-in-hand with financial security. A money demand made to both of you is going to be nothing short of astronomical."

"How… how could anyone find out, though?"

Severus handed him the glass. "I did."

"Well, yes - but you're - "

The thin lips curved briefly. "I'm flattered," Severus said, and poured himself a full glass. "Unfortunately, I found out without trying. So could anyone else."

"But we're so careful. I mean - five months, we've not - nowhere else but here. Someone could have found out at the start, when we weren't careful, but then they'd have sent the letter at the start. Wouldn't they?"

Severus corked the bottle and put it to one side.

"I need to ask a question," he said, "and I need an honest answer."

Harry waited. Snape went on, regarding Harry very seriously.

"Have you told anyone, aside from myself or Draco Malfoy, for any reason bad or good, about this arrangement?"

Harry stared into the black eyes. He wanted Snape to probe him, to test him, to scan him for lies and find nothing there. "No," he said firmly. "Nobody. Not a soul."

There were a few moments of silence - then Severus nodded.

"I thought as much."

"Please believe me."

"I believe you." Severus moved to sit beside Harry on the couch, sipping at his glass of wine. Harry's sat untouched in his lap. "You were very bristly today," the older man commented. "I thoroughly meant the threat of detention. I've half a mind to uphold it, actually - you were bloody rude."

"_I_ was bloody rude? You were way overboard. I didn't deserve all that."

"It is _performance_."

"You were enjoying it." Harry lifted the glass to his lips at last, closing his eyes. "Calling me 'boy'. You don't have to get so into it."

"It's hollow diatribe, for goodness sake... as you're well aware."

Severus studied him over the rim of the wine glass, frowning.

"All the years I spent subjecting you to sincere criticism," he murmured, "and the year it becomes insincere, you start listening to me."

"Maybe what you think matters now," Harry muttered.

"Then listen to me at a time that matters."

Severus put a hand on his knee.

"It's hollow," the professor said. "I do it because I _must_. I do it because I thought you can handle it. Or was I wrong?"

Harry said nothing, drinking. Severus's fingertips eased higher on his thigh.

"The personal criticism was not genuine," the older man murmured.

"The shambles of a potion was though, wasn't it?"

"I shan't lie. It was. Your marks on a wider scale, however, are not. You've impressed me this year."

Harry stared. Perhaps it was the wine, he thought; perhaps he was hallucinating. "Really?"

"You've… grown up a lot."

Harry tried a smile, but he knew it was weak. He glanced down into his wine, letting the expression fade from his face. "I wonder why."

"Will you allow me to retain your letter? I need to perform a number of tests on it. If we're dealing with an opportunistic and lucky fool, I could have a culprit by tomorrow."

"By tomorrow?" Harry glanced at the clock. "It's… already ten past eight."

"I can test it through the night."

Harry hesitated; Severus's hand was now on his inner thigh, near his groin, a gentle and insistent presence.

"Aren't we staying the night?" Harry said.

Severus's eyes darkened. "Two nights in a row is beyond risky - especially considering the day's events. I can't allow it."

Harry's throat was very thick. "I - I could really – " He shifted, reaching to hold Severus's hand. "Please. I've had the worst day ever. I just want to feel – "

He stuttered into silence; they shared breath for a few moments, staring at each other across a distance of scant inches. Harry's heart was burning. He didn't like initiating things when Draco wasn't here - it felt so much like testing the ground rules - but it had been a truly _shit_ day. He wanted comfort. He wanted some reassurance and familiarity, and Severus was leaning towards his mouth, eyes hooded.

As their lips met, the far wall began to melt. They paused. The doorway surfaced from out of the stone, solidifying into place and opening with a snap and a creak. Draco, looking pale and stressed, let himself into the lounge.

"Some Ravenclaw prefect," he burst out, as they turned to look at him over the back of the couch. He wriggled out of his robes. "Tried to put me in detention - wanted to know where I was going. What I thought I was doing out of bed at this hour."

"What was your explanation?" Severus asked. His hand was still tight on Harry's inner thigh.

"I told him _I'm_ a prefect. I'll do as I like. He coughed and said fine and excused himself, as he should."

Severus hummed in the back of his throat. "Something credible and calm might have worked a little better, but at least you're here now."

"Have I missed anything?"

"Very little." Severus leant forwards to pour out the third glass of wine - the loss of contact between his hand and Harry's thigh was keen, and Harry ached a little. He shifted to ease the pressure in his jeans. "We have little to discuss, at this point. You're on the end of a rather classic blackmail technique. This letter is intended to provoke worry and paranoia, to frighten, and soon will follow a demand of some sort. An actual threat."

Draco sat down on the sofa with them, taking his glass of wine in both hands.

"Until then," Severus continued, "there is nothing we can do. We can only wait. I don't think I need to suggest avoiding each other strenuously."

Harry's stomach twitched. He glanced at Draco, who had also taken the suggestion badly.

"Surely – " Draco began. "If this bastard already knows - "

"It may not be a man. Please keep all options open, or you might miss something we need."

"Well - well, whoever it is, already _knows_… so…" Draco shifted. "I have a heat coming up."

"You seem to be on heat more often than off," Severus said, with a fond frown, and Draco drank half his glass in one go. He put it down.

"I don't know what this person will actually threaten," the blonde said. "What he thinks he has to bargain with."

Severus and Harry both raised their eyebrows, then glanced at each other. Draco frowned.

"What?" he said.

"The newspapers?" Harry suggested. "Rita Skeeter - "

"Not to mention," Severus said, "that this person happens to have stumbled upon only the most mild and innocent element to the whole affair. _So far_."

"What else is - " Draco began, nonplussed.

"Your entire maternal line are illegal part-veela?" said Severus, staring.

"And the whole _Severus _thing?" Harry said. "The whole - the whole gay, massive age difference, cross-species, teacher-student, three-way - "

He'd phrased it wrongly. Both of them rounded on him.

"Cross-_species_?"

"_Massive_ age difference?"

He cringed. "That's what the papers will see. Okay? So - so get used to it. That's probably putting it nicely. Rita Skeeter will go mad over this. Her head'll explode. We tick _every_ box."

"And this is before the hateful creature has even embellished anything," Severus admitted, grimacing.

Draco downed the second half of his glass. "So it's a public shaming we risk?"

"_And_ the loss of Severus's job."

"The complete loss of career prospects, for the pair of you."

"Probably a money demand."

"An astronomical one."

"Ron and Hermione won't speak to me again, _ever_. They're the only family I've got."

"Your mother and grandmother risk jail sentences for willfully concealing veela heritage and profiting from it on numerous occasions."

"Reporters following us from now until the end of time - "

" - and if I'm unable to prove that I laid not a finger on either of you until your sixteenth birthdays - "

Draco snapped. Harry saw it in the silvery eyes a moment before the blonde moved, and there was no time to warn Severus. However, it wasn't Severus that Draco pounced.

Harry disappeared under a flurry of blonde hair and dove-grey silk pajamas. He yelped. Draco covered the sound with his mouth, kissing him hard, and they tumbled onto the rug before the sofa. Harry struggled. His boyfriend held on tight.

Severus watched the proceedings with idle interest, sipping at his glass of wine. He let them kiss and grope for several minutes, ignoring the Gryffindor's half-hearted and half-muffled cries for assistance.

Harry was missing his shirt, shoes and socks, and sporting a brand new rosy-pink lovebite to his chest by the time Severus took mercy and stepped in. He downed the last of his wine, stepped over their entwined bodies and reached down, wrapping his arms firmly about Draco's silk-wrapped torso.

"You two will be the end of me," he murmured, lifting Draco free. Draco clung to him.

"Bed," the blonde moaned. He reached back for Harry's hand. "Now."

Harry stared up from the rug, feeling debauched enough already. His hair was on end. Two nights in a row _was_ risky - wasn't it?

Then he caught the flash in Severus's eyes, and knew it was a risk worth taking. He hauled himself up from the floor. He took Draco's hand and followed, all too willingly, into the pitch of Severus's bedroom.

"Lights?" he heard Draco mumble in the blackness, in between the soft, wet sucking sound of kisses. The door snapped shut.

"No." Severus's voice shivered. "Like this."

As a three, they staggered to the bed. The backs of Harry's knees hit the edge first. A firm hand pressed in the centre of his chest, knocking him backwards onto the bed. Someone crawled onto him in the darkness. Only as they leant down to seize his lips, and he ran his hands along slim thighs and onto a slender torso, did he recognize Draco.

A third weight eased onto the opposite side of the bed as they kissed, and came to sit above their heads. As Draco released his lips, Severus's shadow waited above Harry in the dark. The older man leant down.

Harry had never kissed upside-down. Even after months of doing this together, having sex as a three, all the positions they'd tried and loved, he'd not kissed this way. It made his stomach flutter. Severus's kiss was firmer than Draco's, slower. The older man oozed control and Harry felt weak, shivering at the tickle of Severus's breath under his chin.

As they kissed, the dexterous tongue idling through the pit of Harry's mouth, Draco was pulling at his clothes. The blonde had no care for lethargy in undressing. He never had. Harry loved it. Draco jerked open the buckle of his belt and then attacked his jeans, tugging them down. Harry kicked to help. Draco pulled at his t-shirt and the kiss broke, reluctantly, for the fabric to be hauled over Harry's head and thrown away somewhere.

Naked, he stared up at the two of them. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness and his chest was heaving, the blood pounding and redirecting through his body.

Draco grabbed for his hands, and pushed them towards his groin. Harry took the hint. Draco no longer owned a pair of trousers that Harry couldn't undo in seconds, even his cords with the concealed buttons. The pajama bottoms were easy.

Severus's trousers were a little trickier. Harry craned his head back, reaching up to find Severus in the dark. He touched a thigh and followed it to groin, locating the fastening, trying to snap open the catch. His fingers fumbled, left-handed and clumsy. After a few seconds he gave in, and stretched up with his teeth instead.

"Good boy…" Severus's fingers curled into his hair. Harry nosed at the thick erection through his trousers, and caught the older man's shiver in response. "Mmhm."

Draco's trousers came down first. There was a lot of shifting and a flutter of fabric over Harry's legs, then Draco was climbing atop him, sitting astride his hips. It became a lot harder to concentrate on Severus's zip. He closed his eyes tight and caught the metal catch between his teeth, tugging it down bit-by-bit. He could hear Severus and Draco kissing; Draco was making light work of the professor's shirt, moaning softly.

The rest of Severus's trousers could not be removed, kneeling on the bed as he was. Harry dragged them down as far as he could, to mid-thigh, and the black boxer shorts with them, then twisted onto his front. He was already hard as a rock. He only grew harder as he gave a long lick to Severus's erection, dragging root to tip. Severus shuddered and moaned in the back of his throat, pulling Harry's head closer, holding him there. Harry shut his eyes and obeyed.

Severus's cock brushed the seam of his lips. He parted them, accepting the intrusion willingly. He sucked as he'd learnt – a little clumsy, a little too wet, letting Severus rock into his mouth. Draco liked to be penetrated; Severus liked oral sex. Harry had devoted himself to the art and Severus's faint exultations were all the praise he'd ever need.

Draco had realized what was going on – hearing the damp slick of Harry's mouth, and Severus's shivers and noises, were all the clues required. The blonde stripped off the rest of their clothing, casting it away from the bed. His hands then brushed Harry's bare stomach, making the muscles quiver, coaxing him to twist slightly.

Harry choked gently on Severus's cock as Draco's lips slid around his own. Shivers darted along the length of his spine. He reached to stroke the back of Draco's neck, rubbing in shaky patterns, and sucked harder on Severus's prick in response. Severus was now moaning faintly, almost weakly, murmuring wordless things that Harry decided he loved. For a long time they didn't move, just bonding this way, letting their arousal build as one.

Severus broke the chain first. His fingers soothed over the corner of Harry's jaw, shaking slightly, pulling him off.

"Up," he whispered, hoarse. "On your knees - sitting."

Harry hurried to comply, trembling at the loss of Draco's mouth around his cock. He knelt on his haunches. Somehow the darkness made him more aware of being completely naked, more sensitized to the touches and the presence of his lovers. His heart was hammering.

Severus moved behind him – strong hands over his thighs, his arse, then an arm wrapping securely around his waist. He leant back, swallowing. Warm breath ghosted over the crook of his neck; teeth and lips feasted on the sensitive knot of nerves, nipping and sucking. He writhed in Severus's tight hold.

"Please – _oh_ – "

"All in good time," came the soft reply, and he sobbed. "I'll give you 'massive age difference'."

Draco's touch appeared out of the darkness – silvery fingertips caressing his stomach, up to his nipples, back down his sides. Draco leant in to kiss him. The gentleness was almost surprising, a cool sensation amidst all the heat, and Harry drowned it in. He could hear whimpering; he realised it was himself.

As a fist coiled around his cock, he gasped into Draco's mouth. He didn't know who it was. He couldn't find out, his arms pinned in Severus's hold as they were. He didn't care. The fist stroked him lazily, slowly, a thumb flitting over the little spot below the head just where he liked. His mind started to melt.

Somewhere in the haze, Severus bit down on his neck again. His voice rumbled against the mark.

"Draco… find me the oil?"

Harry didn't think he'd heard anything so hot in his life. He fought to keep himself from coming on the spot, trying to think of horrible things to flag his arousal and failing miserably. He strained in Severus's arms as he heard the bedside drawers opening, the rattle of objects from inside – old keys, sleeping draft, their sex toys, pens that no longer worked.

"Here," Draco's voice said at last. Harry had nearly bitten through his lower lip. He heard the snap of a bottle lid and spread his legs in anticipation.

Cool, wet fingers eased down the cleft of his arse. He quivered. He could smell sandalwood now, amidst Draco's heady vanilla.

"Relax," Severus whispered in his ear, and his toes curled. "I'm going to fuck you until you're weeping for me."

Draco pressed up against his chest, nestling close, and began to press tiny kisses around his mouth. "Love you, Harry. Love you both."

Harry always forgot how big Severus was. Each time they did this, it took his breath away in a haze of both panic and desperate want. His head pounded. It felt too big, too thick – how could it possibly fit? Severus squeezed his hand tight, soothing his whimpers. He wondered when they'd started holding hands. Draco was kissing his neck now, stroking his softening cock, whispering, "Take it, sweet… it's alright…"

Then Severus was in – deep in, all in. Harry let out a gasp of withheld air. He quaked and his head fell back onto Severus's shoulder, boneless, weak. Draco licked at the sweat forming on his collar bones. The pain began to ease.

Soon, it was no more than an ache and the arousal overcame. He rocked his hips, managing a wordless moan. Severus hid a kiss against the curve of his shoulder.

"Good boy," he whispered. "My precious boys."

He began to rock – slowly easing out an inch or two, pushing his way back in. Harry tightened and choked. He felt Severus's full-body shudder as if it were his own.

"Gods, so tight - "

Draco's mouth brushed Harry's – he kissed back, desperately, sucking on Draco's tongue as it was fed shyly between his lips. After a minute or two of Severus's deepening thrusts, the focus required to kiss was gone. Harry could only moan, responding hazily, weakly, his entire body ablaze.

Draco let his lips go. He wound his way down Harry's body with kisses, until he was on his stomach in the dark. His mouth sealed around Harry's cock without the slightest mercy. He began to suck at once, pursing his lips, hollowing his cheeks.

Harry could only listen, lost, as all manner of nonsense poured from his lips. He heard himself whimpering and moaning and confessing to things that in the daylight would make him cringe, but in this moment, he didn't care. All that mattered was the pleasure – building pleasure, burning, all in his cock and his thighs and his arse.

Severus's spare hand was splayed on his lower stomach, fingers cool, possessive. The bed creaked gently. His eyes rolled out of focus and he tightened his grip on Severus's hand, managing to gasp through his swollen lips,

"G-gonna – gonna come – c-can't - "

Severus's voice was tight. "Come," he ordered. He began to thrust into Harry fast and hard and with no mercy, jabbing at his prostate over and over. "Come for me. Come, Harry. _Now_."

Harry obeyed – there was nothing else he could do. He came crying and sobbing and without a scrap of dignity. In the blinding blackness of his orgasm, he felt Severus bite down into his shoulder. The pain was magnificent.

He laid in his after-glow, exhausted, filmed with sweat, watching Draco receive the facedown fucking of his life. His strength returned enough to ease nearer to them, lie with them, and stroke his fingertips up and down Severus's spine. Draco came screaming into a mouthful of pillow.

Severus half-collapsed, after. He lolled onto his back, gasping with exhaustion and release. Harry and Draco burrowed into his arms, one on each side, and within minutes they were asleep.

It was two AM when Harry left. He didn't dare stay the whole night - he was absent from his bed in Gryffindor Tower often enough. He dressed in the dark, fumbling, his skin still tingling. A hand caught his wrist as he rounded the bed. It pulled him close.

Severus - firmer, slower, tender tongue seeking between his lips and soothing the roof of his mouth. They parted and slim fingers tangled in Harry's hair. Draco - softer, gentler, sweeter, the pliant lips that he'd kissed and fucked and loved for five months now. He adored the contrast between them, the compliments. His heart swelled. Severus was stroking his arm.

"See you tomorrow, dove," Draco whispered - he was half-asleep again already.

"Sleep tight. Wish I could stay."

"Harry - " Severus's fingers curled tight with his own. "The criticism - it's all folly. It's all pantomime. You're very, very able."

"I know," Harry said. He swallowed. He could smell vanilla everywhere, vanilla and the human musk of Severus's bed, Severus's skin and his hair, the sandalwood in the lube. Their scent was the perfect combination. "I… I know you - "

"Go," Severus whispered over him. "Before I make you stay."

Harry left, with a last kiss from each. He let himself out through the concealed door. The cold of the dungeons was particularly keen tonight, sharp against skin that was still warm from his lovers' bed, and he hurried through the dark corridors of the school.

He saw no-one.


	6. Fair Game

*****

**Triquetra**

_**By Mottlemoth**_

*****

**Chapter Six – Fair Game**

Harry left three days clear before he risked another visit. The rest of the Gryffindors were filtering away to bed when he told his friends he had to run to the library before it closed. He slipped down to the dungeons, checking over his shoulder for anyone following.

Severus was in his classroom, chalking up a diagram of how best to dissect a rat for its spleen. Harry shut the door with a pointed snap and Severus glanced round.

"Potter?"

Harry grinned. "Harry, for now. It's not about class work."

Severus's face relaxed slightly. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah… I just wondered if you'd had a look at the letter. If you found anything out for us."

Nodding, Severus put down his chalk. He dusted off his hands on his apron.

"I have," he said, sweeping to his desk. He beckoned Harry closer. "It's far from what we wished to find out, but it's significant in its own right."

Harry moved gladly to Severus's side. He resisted the urge to snuggle, suspecting it was neither the time nor the place. Severus took from his desk drawer the fateful letter, unfolding it carefully and laying it flat.

"The simplest spells are often the most powerful," Severus said. "Complex magic is riddled with complex loopholes, and most often than not, complex counter-charms. The most effective spell to use on this particular item is the first I thought of - the most basic. A simple charm to read a magical signature. All wizards have one. For example – "

He directed his wand at a cauldron in the corner - rather, it had once been a cauldron. It was now a blistered black hoop, the bottom having been dissolved away completely. There was a glitter of yellow sparks from Severus's wand.

From the destroyed cauldron rose a pale shadow, insubstantial as a wisp of smoke. Harry watched as the shadow formed the face of Neville Longbottom, then vanished.

"The more time a wizard subjects an item to magic," Severus said, "the more distinct his or her impression is. My first hypothesis was that we are dealing with an opportunistic fellow student - "

"But the letter is addressed from outside the school - they specified Gryffindor house."

Snape wrinkled his nose. "A ruse. Intended to look as such. I would question _how _someone from the outside world would have discovered the affair between the pair of you. No, I think it more likely we're against a student with their eyes full of gold."

"So it's a Slytherin."

Snape frowned. "Surely you, of all people, should now have an appreciation for the virtues of Slytherin House."

"Alright, alright - " Harry was grinning. "You were saying about your, um, first hypothesis." Trust Snape to turn this into a research project.

"Indeed I was. Please stay focused. My line-of-thinking was this: a student has seen the two of you being indiscrete in some manner. They spy an opportunity. They construct this letter, thinking that the only people to test it will be yourself and possibly Draco. Not a tutor. The spells they use to create the letter and shroud their involvement are likely to be intermediate level, designed to flummox a fellow student but not a teacher, and they may not even think of disguising their magical signature. A reasonable suggestion, would you say?"

"Yeah - sounds fine."

Snape flourished his wand. Sparks scattered the letter.

Nothing happened. They waited in the silence for a moment or two - the letter remained as mute and uncooperative as ever.

"What does that mean?" Harry asked.

"No magic has been used," said Severus. "None whatsoever. Not in the construction, the shrouding, the sending."

"So - " Harry stared up at his lover. "So it's… it's a real muggle-style blackmail letter. Scissors and glue."

"Indeed. Your blackmailer has sense. Most students would use magic, wrongly thinking it would conceal their identity."

Harry's heart fell. "So it's someone with a brain in their skull." He'd been hoping it was Pansy Parkinson - she'd never quite given up on Draco, especially now he was hot and pouring pheromones from every orifice. "What now?"

"We wait for another letter. You keep your eyes open, and avoid Draco as much as you physically can."

"That - um - "

"I'm aware it will be difficult - at least try." Severus paused, studying him. Their faces were close. "It's for Draco's sake, as much as yours. Think how you will feel if this story breaks. If his family are imprisoned, his career prospects nose-dive, and every pervert to recognise him in the street thinks he's fair-game."

"Whoa - excuse me? Fair game?"

Severus gave him a grim expression. "People who are openly part-veela are… well, the issues are difficult. They're incredibly attractive. Their pheromones are ten times stronger than the human variety. As a general rule they can be flirtatious and seemingly receptive to advances. This… is often taken advantage of. Employers, strangers in the street, apparent friends."

"You're kidding."

"We had an incident two years ago," Severus said, "with Mademoiselle Delacour. A number of young men from Durmstrang apparently cornered her in the castle grounds. Our ever-vigilant gamekeeper heard her screams and intervened."

Harry said nothing. A cold, horrible sickness was spreading from his stomach to his throat, coiling around his heart.

"Of course, the Ministry's laws on part-veela are not written with the part-veela in mind."

Severus folded the letter, sliding it back into the drawer.

"The young men from Durmstrang, naturally, claimed they were provoked. Enchanted. The Ministry found this a very reasonable defense. Miss Delacour was warned not to incite groups of innocent young gentlemen and change her mind midway again. She now has a mark on her record."

"R-record?"

"It's a crude system. Three strikes and you're out."

Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Be beautiful enough to be raped three times - or be beautiful enough for three colleagues to claim your employer's unwanted infatuation with you is the only reason for your employment - or reject three vindictive admirers who write to the Ministry - and treatments range from imprisonment to forced sterilisation."

"Shit - you're not serious."

"I am, unfortunately." Severus fixed him with a careful stare. "Draco Malfoy the human will receive full justice in the case of sexual assault or unfair discrimination. Draco Malfoy the veela will deserve everything he gets. If nothing else inspires you to avoid him, for his own good, then I'm not sure what to say to you."

Harry swallowed. "No, it's… it's okay. That does the trick."

"I've instructed the house elves to inform me at once, should any sliced-up newspapers be found in a dormitory bin."

"Isn't that - a suspicious request to make? What if they tell someone you're looking for newspapers?"

"Oh, fear not," Severus said, with a slow smile. "I've warned them to keep it our little secret… or the punishment _I _inflict on them will make their self-punishment seem like a two-week holiday in Barbados."

*

Harry was still rather numb when he got back to Gryffindor Tower. More time had passed than he intended - the common room was completely deserted, or so he first thought.

As he closed the portrait behind him, he spotted the figure hunched over a wand light in the corner, still scribbling furiously across a piece of parchment.

"Hermione?"

She looked up, startled. "Oh! Hello Harry…"

There were dark circles under her eyes - she looked almost as bad as he felt.

"Have you finished the Charms essay?" she asked, despairing. "I can't believe I've had to leave it this late… the extra research for Professor McGonagall just took up all my study time…"

"Yeah, last week… do you want a look at mine?"

"Oh - no, it's okay…"

"You… you look really tired, Mione."

She pushed back a handful of her frayed hair. "I've had a lot on my mind lately… I spent so much time organising things over the summer. It all seems to have come crashing down around me."

She tried a smile.

"Where've you been?" she asked, and glanced at the grandfather clock by the fireplace. "Wow - Harry, it's nearly eleven. Where _have_ you been?"

"Library." He smiled. "You know how it is… time slips away from you. Just one more chapter."

"Oh… I see." She paused, and for one of the first times in knowing Hermione, Harry got the distinct impression she did not believe him. "You seem to have been out a lot this year… even when it's not Quidditch practice."

"Yeah - it's crazy, isn't it?" He tried a laugh. "I never guessed sixth year would be so crazy. All the assignments and stuff. It's… it's really hectic."

She smiled; her face relaxed. "You seem to be doing so well in class, though."

"Hard work pays off, I guess. It's time to knuckle down and get serious… plan for the future, and all that."

"Yes…" She glanced at her books, disheartened. "Well… I've got my essay to finish."

"I'll leave you to it. Good luck, Mione."

"Thanks, Harry. Good night."

As he dressed for bed, Harry tried to ignore the slight twist of worry in his stomach. It had begun in Severus's office, with thoughts of Draco being treated as some kind of sexual free-for-all. Lying to Hermione had only made it worse.

He'd known all year he spent too much time away from his friends, most of the time with no explanation given. He'd known he was taking risks. He hadn't realised just how much, though.

If even Hermione could be suspicious of his whereabouts, it was no surprise someone else had noticed - someone far more sinister. He wondered where their blackmailer was now. He wondered if they had any idea what they'd stumbled across, or if they knew how much devastation they could cause to three entire lives.

As he laid his head down, pulling the covers up around his throat, he told himself things would get better. It would all work out. They had each other; it was all they needed.

His dreams were full of bright red howlers, flying from classroom to classroom and bellowing their secrets for everyone to hear, and he was trying to chase them and catch them. They were flying too fast. People were laughing and he was shouting for Draco and Severus, shouting for help. He couldn't find them. Then he turned, and saw out of the Gryffindor Common Room window – Severus and Draco were heading towards the school gates. They were hand-in-hand. He shouted for them, crying, _wait for me_. They couldn't hear. They were getting smaller and smaller, fading into the distance.

He woke up sweating, blinking salt from his eyes.

A few weeks passed.


	7. Monster

*****

**Triquetra**_**  
By Mottlemoth**_

*****

**Chapter Seven – Monsters **

There was an empty seat at the Slytherin table one morning towards the end of February. In Potions, too, Draco's desk stood empty and unused. Harry did his best to concentrate through the worry. They were working on a timed essay today, which always required his full attention. It was to prepare them for their summer exam, and to allow Professor Snape time to give each of them personal feedback on their previous assignment. The alphabet seemed to crawl by until at last, "Potter – " was barked through the open office door. Harry gladly dropped his quill and headed through.

"Shut the door, Potter," Snape drawled, not looking up from his mark-book. "Take a seat."

Harry closed the door. He felt the silencing charm click into place.

"Is Draco alright?" he asked, and Severus seemed to release some pressure he'd been holding in his shoulders. He put down his quill. He looked as if he hadn't slept much.

"He was taken ill during the night with a high fever," he said. "His dorm mates were woken by him sobbing... it took me an hour to convince our dear matron to release him into my care. She was highly suspicious."

Harry sat down. "Is he on heat?"

"A little worse – he's coming into season. A sort of grand heat, with a lot more crying and sleeping between the sex." Severus rubbed at his temples, leaning back in his chair. "I've given him a sleeping draught. He's convalescing in my quarters as we speak."

Harry pushed back his chair.

"I'll go to him now," he said. "Have we got any chocolate in the bedside drawer?" Draco liked chocolate on his heat – chocolate and weepy muggle romance novels about cowboys.

Before Harry could take a step, Severus interjected.

"Harry, sit down. You're going nowhere. The pair of you are being watched, in case you've forgotten." Severus returned to his mark-book, flicking through for Harry's grades. "Both of you missing from classes would – "

"But – but he's on heat," Harry said, surprised. "He needs me – and it's been weeks since the letter. Nothing else has turned up."

"I have the situation handled by myself. He's content and healthy and safe. Now sit, if you please."

Harry stared at Severus. "But I'm his mate too," he said. "You can't just expect me to – "

"I can, and I do." Snape's eyes were hard as flint. "You'll sit this one out, if you know what's good for you. Good for the pair of you. He'll have a season twice a year for the rest of his life and he needs to get used to it. There's no reason to molly-coddle him. To rush to his sexual aid, whenever he calls."

"It _hurts_ him." Harry felt irrepressible anger rising at the coldness in Snape's eyes, the complete lack of any connection. His fists balled. "It hurts him and he gets upset."

The subject, apparently, was no longer up for discussion. Severus's jaw set.

"_Sit_," he said. "We need to discuss your essay."

Harry remained on his feet. He screwed his courage against his fear and his better judgement, spurred on by the thought of Draco frustrated and alone and in pain.

"You're acting like a jerk," he said. He pushed on, shaking. "You keep doing this. Just because you're in your office – with your pickled things and your mark-book – just because I'm in uniform doesn't mean – "

Severus stood so quickly his chair clattered to the floor.

"Sit yourself down!" he raged. "It means _precisely_ everything you think it doesn't! That I have authority over you, Potter – that we have a _professional_ relationship – and that I know _better_ than you! Now _sit yourself down_, or find yourself scrubbing cauldrons until the little blonde brat's autumn season!"

Harry's ears rang. He stared at his lover from across the office, pale. His stomach felt suddenly empty and cold.

"You're a monster," he managed.

Snape said nothing, dead-eyed. Not a muscle in his body moved. Harry knew he wouldn't win this war - he didn't have the strength to fight, too wounded to go on. In spite of everything, Severus remained a force of both great healing and terrible harm in Harry's life, and he didn't seem ready to let Harry forget the latter.

Harry sat down, numb.

Severus took several seconds to gather his anger, his shoulders shaking. Then he sat as well, coolly, and opened the mark book.

"Your assignment was strong on the following points," he began, and Harry stopped listening. He didn't want to hear it.

When his allotted time was over, Snape directed him back to class as coldly as if they'd never passed a civil word in their lives. Harry lurched for the door. Snape stopped him.

"I don't expect to see you tonight or tomorrow," the professor said, without looking up. "Let this serve as your warning. Stay away."

"You – you're just – "

"Get out."

Harry left the office, hearing the next person's name called in his wake. Hermione glanced up as he returned to their workbench. Her eyes widened.

"Harry... are you okay?"

Harry gathered his things without a word, trying to ignore the shake in his wrists. He wouldn't be completing his timed essay. Maybe Severus would track him down about it, or maybe not. He didn't care. In the end, he croaked to Hermione: "I've... got a headache. See you at lunch."

He left.

He headed to Gryffindor Tower and locked himself in the dormitory, pulling the curtains shut around his bed. There he stayed, missing lunch, classes and then dinner. He couldn't face the thought of other people.

*

Harry re-emerged as evening fell. The common room was nearly empty – there was no sign of Ron or Hermione, or any of his other friends. He felt a momentary pang, imagining them combing the castle and the grounds for him, worrying about him. He hated lying to them, but he had to. None of them would understand what he had with Severus and Draco... what he thought he had, anyway. Severus's words still stung in his heart.

He tried not to let them take centre-stage in his head as he wound his way down to the dungeons.

"_Endurance is nobler than strength, and patience than beauty..._"

The door formed under his fingertips. He let himself in.

The lounge was dark – so, too, was the bedroom. He could still make out the figure nestled in the bed, covers drawn high, a few strands of silver-blonde splayed across the pillows. There was an empty mug on the bedside cabinet and Harry knew it would have once contained hot chocolate. The door to the bathroom was shut, candlelight and steam emanating from underneath – he could hear water running. Severus was showering.

Harry stripped down to his vest and shorts, leaving his clothes folded neatly in the old armchair. He knew Severus would kill him. He didn't care – it was worth it, just for five minutes. A minute. He belonged here.

He crawled under the sheets, suddenly aware of how chilled his limbs were from the dungeon air. He spooned up tight to his Draco's sleep-warmed body. He wrapped his arms tight around his lover's waist, burying his nose in the white-blonde silk of his hair. Draco smelt of sex; of Severus's sex. He smelt warm and cosy and safe. Relief and pain gushed through Harry in equal force. His eyes closed.

"I knew you'd come," Draco whispered, after a few moments.

Harry tightened his hold. He hadn't realised until now how perfectly Draco fitted in his arms.

"He's... he's going to kill me," he said. "I mean it. He warned me not to come."

"Yes, I had a feeling you two had a fight." Draco stirred in Harry's arms – he twisted over to face Harry, all slender limbs and silky hair in the darkness. His arms curled around Harry's chest. "He's been so quiet all evening – so tense. He's feeling guilty."

Harry grimaced. "He's probably just thinking up ways to punish me. Don't fool yourself."

Draco began to stroke behind his ear. "He loves you," he murmured. Harry's heart tensed. "He doesn't like being angry with you... he just doesn't know how to cope with himself."

Harry tried to make sense of this. He realised, after a moment, that he couldn't – just as he couldn't make sense of Severus. It was fitting.

"I don't know what was wrong with him," he said. "He just... just flipped. He was so cold. It's been ages since that letter. I don't know what's made him angry."

"He'll tell us when he's ready."

"Can you think of anything?"

"No." Draco yawned a little. "I wouldn't waste your mental energy on it, Harry. He's not a puzzle you can solve."

Harry didn't want to believe this. There would be some key to Severus, surely, as easily as there was a key to Draco. Love made things simple. He buried his face in Draco's neck.

"I've panicked about you all day," he mumbled. "I've been worried."

"M'alright." Draco heaved a slow sigh. "It's... frustrating. Nothing ever feels enough. I feel like I'm missing something, constantly, even when I have it all."

"You're all poignant and cryptic when you're on season. It's like you've turned into a bad poet."

Draco laughed, his chest shaking. Harry's heart glowed. He opened his mouth to say more, wanting more of Draco's laughter, when the sound of running water suddenly stopped. He tensed. He heard Severus step wet from the shower, pull a towel from the rail. Harry's heart began to thump.

Draco curled a little tighter around him; he kissed Harry's jaw.

"Whenever he hates you," he whispered. "That's when he loves you the most, and can't tell you he's afraid."

Harry opened his mouth again. He couldn't think of what to say to that. He didn't know if he'd ever think of a proper reply, or forget it, or feel his throat tighten in such a way. Swallowing, he nestled into Draco and closed his eyes, and decided Severus's anger couldn't be fought. It had to be endured.

The bathroom door opened, shedding a little light into the room. Harry didn't open his eyes. He kept them closed even as he heard Severus move about the room, changing for bed and tidying up, combing his hair, approaching the bed. The sheets shifted. Harry held his breath as Severus slid in behind him, as the older man's weight rocked the mattress gently.

Then Severus was pressing against him, slow; easing close; wrapping the pair of them up.

Harry was still waiting, panicking, breath held. Surely Severus had realised by now – surely he could feel two. Surely he hadn't forgotten. Was this a trick? Was he being lulled into a false sense of security? But Severus was nestling into him so tight, and then the tip of the professor's nose was grazing his shoulder, trailing to his neck - so tender. Why wasn't he angry?

An awfully long time seemed to pass.

Harry's anxiety only doubled when he realised Draco, the traitor, had fallen asleep again. He'd left Harry to deal with Severus alone. Harry couldn't help but feel abandoned.

Severus's fingers brushed the back of his hand, where it lay at the base of Draco's spine. The touch hesitated; Severus's hand curled over his. Their fingers entwined. Harry didn't know if he was meant to speak.

In the end, Severus broke the silence.

"I told you not to come."

The voice was as tender as if it were praise. Harry felt the panic in his stomach ease, but not yet disappear.

"You told 'Potter' not to come. And he hasn't."

"Harry – "

"Stop treating me like a nuisance student," Harry whispered. "Like a brat you can order around. We're – we're past that, whether you like it or not. It's serious now. It's changed and we can't go back no matter how badly you treat me, so just – just stop trying, alright?"

There was a long silence.

"I do it to protect you," Severus said against the back of his neck. "To protect you both."

"What's messed you up?"

"Mm?"

"Why... why today? What's suddenly changed?"

"Nothing has changed." The comment was stiff, and apparently beyond question. "We cannot behave openly like lovers – we _cannot_. Not in class."

"We weren't _in class_," Harry seethed, and as Draco twitched in his arms, he lowered his voice. "We were talking in private, about _my boyfriend_, and you just – "

Snape stiffened. "That's – how you think of him, is it?"

Harry fought to subdue his anger. He couldn't roll over without disturbing Draco; he found Severus's hand instead and seized it, gripping hard enough to cut off blood. He didn't care if it hurt.

"_So are you_," he hissed. "So don't even start that."

"If I'm perceived as some kind of intruder – some _accessory _ - "

"I _love_ you!" Harry blazed, as quietly as he could even though his voice cracked as he said it. "Alright? Just as much as him. _Just as much_. The last thing we need is someone getting paranoid and kicking off, when you're already acting like a jerk and Dray's risking jail."

He swallowed, trying to calm down. He wrapped his fingers tighter around Severus's hand. Severus was completely silent.

"Look... just – please chill. In class, fine. But not when it's about... about this. About the three of us."

There was only more silence. He craned his head back, fearing the worst – he could see only the glitter of one dark eye, the shades of black hair and pale skin.

"I – I know it's scary." He tried to swallow and found his throat too thick. "You don't know how freaked out I am. I mean it. I don't... _do_ stuff like this. So I'm scared too, but we... we got into this, and it's good, and we're not hurting anyone – it's our business."

His voice trailed off. He begged for a response. Receiving nothing, he tried,

"Please."

Severus shook his head. "I need to be frank with you."

Harry braced himself. Severus stirred, leaning up on one elbow, and Harry tilted onto his back to stare up into the black eyes.

"Draco's season – " Severus was distinctly uncomfortable. "It has brought to light – six months, more or less – and I'm realising – "

He took a long breath and began again.

"I have spoken to Draco about this and he will not hear a word of it but I need you to listen, and I can only hope you give it the credit it deserves."

Harry waited.

"This arrangement we have," Severus said. "Harry, it can only end in destruction and pain. There is no plausible happily-ever-after. There is no sunset for the three of us to skip off to, hand-in-hand-in-hand."

"You're... freaked out about being in a relationship for six months?"

Snape's jaw worked. "I am – for good reason. Reason we should have realised at the beginning of this... relationship. _Before_ its beginning."

"I don't understand – why are you suddenly - ?"

"Draco seems to think we have a future. As a three. He... today, I..." Severus shook his head. "He's allowing himself to believe things that aren't true. He sees the situation with severely rose-tinted glasses, but the truth is, we have no future. There is no positive outcome. No happy end."

Harry wasn't prepared to discuss this, even in his own head. He knew that if he did, he would reach similar conclusions to Severus and his heart said they weren't foregone conclusions. He didn't see the point of using his head in a situation like this. If heads had been used, they would never have gotten here in the first place. Heads were not their way out.

As he breathed, steadying himself, the scent of Severus's skin and clothes and bed-linen filled his lungs. It was like a drug. It calmed him.

"Then we'd better avoid ending it," he said.

Severus's brows drew together. "Please _think_. Please use some common sense."

"Because common sense led us into a three-way relationship involving almost every taboo known to society?"

"Both of you are insane. It was madness to begin this. It will end in madness."

Harry scrabbled for some logic – he suspected it was the only weapon that would work against Severus.

"Relationships forged on the future are bad," he said. He searched Severus's eyes as he spoke, hoping this made sense. "They're flimsy. They're... they're very supposing. Relationships are good when they're in the present, and when the people make each other happy and are in love. We're _that_. We're there. If we're happy and in love, shouldn't we keep going? Do we have to sketch the ending out?"

Severus was not convinced.

"There is trouble coming," the professor said. "It _will_ come. Dodging your would-be blackmailer will do nothing but buy us time. At some point, we _will _be discovered and this _will_ end, and it is inevitable."

Harry carefully pushed up onto his elbows. Draco stirred in his arms and slid to one side, burrowing back into the pillows, fast asleep. Harry then brought his face very close to Severus's.

"It's a big world," Harry said. "There's room for madness. I'm happy. Dray's happy. You're happy, even if you won't admit it. Isn't that enough?"

He paused. He decided after a moment that he dared, and leant near enough to brush his lips just once over Severus's thin mouth. He felt Severus's head tilt instinctively in response, even as the professor tried not to react.

"Are you scared we'll grow up and fly away?" Harry said. He saw Severus's eyes shutter. "Is that it? We've had six months, so we'll be getting bored of you soon? Or we'll get found out and we'll both ditch you, and say it's all lies?"

Severus did not speak. Harry pressed on.

"Draco - ... he changes things. His pheromones. They're like a glue, aren't they? Emotional glue?"

"Veela pheromones are a critical ingredient in every love potion known to wizard-kind." Severus was studying Harry's face as he spoke, his eyes lingering a little longer than usual on Harry's lips. "Veela are fiercely loyal to their mate – and veela _must _keep a mate at all times, or the heats will make them ill. The pheromones strengthen the bond between the veela and their chosen, ah, victim. They keep the attraction powerful and fresh."

He hesitated.

"Very few people ever break up with a veela."

"I'll bet," Harry said. He tried to imagine someone dumping Fleur Delacour. It was insanity. "Look... look, seeing as you've sketched out the worst possible scenario. Here's the best."

"Don't." Severus's eyes flashed. "Rid your head of it this instant."

"We do what normal people do," Harry ploughed on, and grabbed for Severus's wrists, holding them, staring into the black eyes. "We have fun. We have sex. We're happy together and the years go past, and Draco and I leave school, and we get jobs that will keep us near Scotland. We find a cottage somewhere out on the moors. The three of us. We get a king-size bed and a cooking schedule and maybe a little dog. Not a bulldog. Bad experiences. And – and some more years go past, and you wake up one morning and realise _you actually enjoy your life_. How's that?"

"It's _impossible_," Severus said. "You are sixteen. You know nothing about these issues – the complexities of it. You cannot begin to fathom it."

"What did Draco say to you today?"

Severus's face twisted with discomfort. "He... we were in the midst of things. I doubt he knows he said it."

"He told you he loved you?" Draco had been expressing his love for Harry since the second time they ever had sex. Harry heard Draco express love for them both on a regular basis now, pre-coital and mid-coital and post-coital and even with no coitus, and Harry himself had returned it. It was open.

"No."

"Then what? He told you he wanted to get married or something?"

"Don't be absurd," Snape snapped, a little quickly.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "People come out with rubbish when they're having sex. You... you should probably just take it as a compliment. If you find leaflets for jazz bands in his pockets, maybe worry, but..."

Severus sighed. "I'm aware he was slightly delirious. I'm aware he wasn't genuinely proposing to me that we consider it. I'm rattled by the _concept_ of it, Harry. The level of commitment he's casually throwing around, the level he's expecting. The level you're _both_ expecting. It _won't_ happen. It can't happen. This affair is hopeless."

Harry didn't know what to say. He wondered if he'd been exposed to Draco's pheromones for too long, or if they just affected him more than Severus – but he found it hard to think of their relationship ending. It didn't seem a possibility at the moment. He loved them both, and they loved him, and he didn't understand why that couldn't be enough.

As a child, he'd had love from no-one. Now he had it with two people. He would keep it as long as it lasted, and not question it, not dismiss it and doom it and think about it ending.

Severus's expression was pained as he waited for a response. Harry found his heart aching with love and utter frustration.

"Please... just relax," Harry whispered. He didn't think he could take much more talk. He reached up to lace his fingers behind Severus's neck, tight, and pushed closer. "I know more than you think," he said, "and if I don't, then Draco's pheromones do. Please just relax – even just for tonight. You're... you're in a weird mood. Let it go."

Severus's throat muscles contracted gently. He then shook his head, pulled back and got out of bed, taking up his dressing robe from where it had been cast over the wardrobe. Harry rolled his eyes and fell back against the pillows.

"I won't be sleeping," Severus said, pulling on his robe somewhere in the dark. "I might as well get some marking done... damn the pair of you. You _will_ be the death of me."

He left the room. Harry gave it a few minutes, absently stroking Draco's hair as he gathered his thoughts and calmed himself. He then slid out of bed. He couldn't find another dressing gown and so took Severus's black work-shirt instead, pulling it on as he wandered through into the dark lounge.

Severus wasn't at his desk. He was sitting on the couch with a hand over his eyes, as if he had a blinding headache.

Harry knelt before him.

As he reached for the sash of Severus's robe, the older man attempted to bat his hands away. It was half-hearted enough for Harry to ignore.

"No, Harry. I'm exhausted."

"Then you need it more." Harry tugged at the sash, pushing apart the sides of Severus's gown to reveal his soft stomach, the trail of dark hair leading to his thick cock and his thighs. "Lie back," Harry said. "Close your eyes. Stop thinking."

"This will accomplish nothing."

"So just enjoy it," Harry said. "While you've got it." He lowered his head.

Severus's reluctance waned somewhat as Harry nuzzled and lapped, and wrapped his cock in both hands and stroked in the rhythm Harry knew he liked. By the time he drew Severus's erection into the back of his throat, the protests had stopped completely. Fingers curled in his hair, holding him just where he was wanted. Needed, Harry thought. He relaxed his throat and buried his nose into the dark curls at the base of his mouthful, hollowing his cheeks. He began to hum.

Severus's noises grew tighter, more desperate. The initial mutters of uncertainty soon lapsed into reluctant moans, and then more heart-felt, into sighs and hitches in his breath. His fingers started to shake in Harry's hair. He pulled Harry tighter to his groin.

As Harry glanced up, he saw Severus's head tipped against the back of the couch and lip bitten, face taut with focus. He redoubled his efforts. Severus let out a cry and a little moan, shivering, his mouth open. Some nights, Harry liked to draw this out – he liked it to be eased and idle; but something told him Severus needed more than that tonight.

He worked fervently, not holding back. He didn't know if a blow-job could say _'I love you'_. He wanted this to come as close as it could.

He was so absorbed in his work that he didn't notice the shy footsteps across the carpet towards them. The first he knew, Draco's fingers were brushing between his shoulders. The blonde climbed onto the sofa beside Severus. Harry craned his head up.

He watched them kiss – he watched Draco cradle Severus's face, hold him, and he saw the vulnerability in Severus more clearly than he ever had. He sucked, hard. The older man's fingers clenched in his hair.

Severus came gasping and begging, moaning against Draco's lips.

They adjourned to bed soon after. Harry quickly lost track of whose hands were whose, even at one point whose cock was pushing down his throat, who it was thrusting three fingers hard in and out of his body. The night passed in a haze of biting at his neck and come spattering his body and his hands. Severus took him twice. Both times, Harry stared into the black eyes as he was penetrated, not even sure what it was he wanted to share. What he wanted Severus to know. It didn't matter.

Early morning came, and sleep was badly needed. As they burrowed together, the air heady with sex and vanilla and sweat, Harry pointedly shifted to lie behind Severus, cocooning the older man between them. He spooned into Severus, tightly. He pressed his nose into the crook of Severus's neck.

"There's been no second letter," he whispered, "and we love you, and we want to be with you, and when we told you we'd keep it a secret, we meant _forever_."

Severus's throat muscles contracted. "I'll... I'll destroy you both." It was barely audible.

Draco leant in close.

"You make us _happy_," he whispered. Harry watched them kiss, feeling his heart expand with joy.

It was to be his final night of happiness for quite some time.


	8. Gang Strip

*****

**Triquetra**_**  
By Mottlemoth**_

*****

**Chapter Eight – Gang Strip**

The next morning came. Severus carried two plates of toast to the wild mess of his bed, and the two naked young men that were nestled together in it.

Harry lifted his head, smelling food. His body cried out for energy. It had been a long night - all nights were with Severus and Draco, but they weren't usually so emotionally exhausting. He sat up, and instantly stiffened at a great twinge of pain.

He let out a cry. Severus put down the plates. He moved quickly, kneeling, soothing a hand over the curve of Harry's spine in concern.

"Where?" the older man said.

"Um – lots of places – "

"We've slept together for half a year," Severus said, almost amused, "and you can't even say the word 'arse' to me?"

Draco tittered, reclining beside them with toast in hand. Severus eased onto the mattress behind Harry and laid cool hands at the very base of his spine.

"Be careful today," he murmured. "No lunges... no pole-vaulting. Et cetera."

He rested his head on Harry's shoulder and began to murmur in Latin. Harry closed his eyes. Warmth spread through his muscles – in truth, his arse wasn't the only thing hurting. He glanced down at his chest and found bites strewn everywhere, all over his collar bones and around his nipples. He could even tell who was responsible for each. Severus's were darker, stronger, the skin broken here and there; Draco's were softer and smaller, rosier in hue. He was glad he didn't have Quidditch practice today. The team would go mad if they saw the bites.

Draco knelt up, and placed a piece of toast in Harry's mouth.

"Eat, love," he said. "If you pass out in class, Madam Pomfrey will examine you. The repeated sodomising might be hard to explain."

Harry groaned at the thought, chewing. Draco kissed his cheek.

"What will you tell your nosy friends?" he asked.

Harry swallowed his mouthful of toast. "What about?"

"About you being missing for the night."

"I don't know." Harry tried to think – it was hard with the presence of Severus's hands, the tender murmuring, and Draco so close and so naked. He didn't think he'd survive another round of sex, but his brain was still wandering. "I was caught in the library after hours? I've been serving detention with Filch."

Draco hummed. "Would explain the tiredness. But try and look a little sadder."

Harry tried. Draco raised an eyebrow.

"I said a little sadder, not like a kicked puppy."

Severus's murmuring suddenly grew a lot louder, the tenderness touched by impatience. Harry's lips curved. He hung his head, obedient, and Draco sprawled on his back to finish his toast and let Severus work in peace. The Latin came to an abrupt end some minutes later.

"Mr Filch may or may not look tired. He would also be likely to crow to the school, if he had caught you out of bed. I, however, could corroborate your story."

"Okay." Harry turned his head over one shoulder, peering at Severus. "Are you... alright today?"

Severus's eyes faltered. He looked away, and said, "I think you both need a cold, sharp dose of reality – the letter should have provided it – and I reiterate to you both that I will only cause you harm. That the odds are piled against us. That any talk of commitment or future or happy endings is sheer insanity."

"But," Draco prompted, gently.

Severus frowned. "But," he said. "Your attempts to persuade me otherwise are touching. I... I see no reason to end this affair now. Soon, perhaps. Before your next season, and before either of you flirt much more with these 'commitment' delusions. But not now."

Harry and Draco crossed gazes, briefly. Harry felt a flicker in his heart, knowing they were thinking the same thing. They had six months to convince him. It was a challenge. It was doable. Gryffindor strength and Slytherin ambition made a formidable team, and if they had their way, Severus Snape wouldn't stand a chance.

"This is assuming no further letters are received," Severus added.

Draco rolled his eyes. "There won't be. If it was blackmail, they'd have followed up the threat by now. They've realised they've got no evidence, no back-up, and they've given in."

He knelt up, and fed a piece of toast into Severus's mouth.

"All is well," he declared, "in the Snape-Malfoy-Potter nest."

*

Before entering the Great Hall for breakfast, Harry took a moment to arrange his face into what he hoped was a tired and annoyed expression. He tried to imagine how he'd feel if he'd spent the night chipping gum from the undersides of workbenches with Snape snarking at him and belittling him, rather than sucking his cock.

Ron spotted him first. They all jumped up with cries of relief, and before Harry was even halfway to his seat, Hermione and Ginny had run across the hall. He was swept up into Hermione's arms. She clung to him.

"_Harry – _where have you _been_ all night? We've been worried sick!"

"We nearly went to Dumbledore," said Ginny. "We thought something awful had happened."

Harry patted Hermione on the back, feeling guilt prickle a little in his chest. "I'm alright," he said, trying to sound both reassuring and frustrated. "Just stupid Snape. As usual."

"What do you mean?"

"I was leaving the library and he came sweeping along - said I was out of bed out of hours. He took a load of points and I've been scrubbing gum off the desks all night. Can you believe that guy? Sixth year, too – like I've not got work to do."

The rest of his friends had now appeared. Ron rolled his eyes and called Severus something that Harry tried not to find too offensive, and Hermione suggested he go straight to Dumbledore. Harry shook his head.

"No, it's okay. If I go snitching, Snape'll probably punish me even more. I'll just catch up on sleep during my free hours. What's for breakfast, anything good? I'm starving..."

*

It was a long day. Harry's exhaustion began to catch up with him shortly after lunch, and the evening came as a welcome relief. His friends gathered on the couches by the fire. He sat with them, pretending to read up on their next Transfiguration class while instead thinking about Draco and Severus. Ron interrupted his reverie now and then for essay help. Hermione quietly made notes.

It looked as if it would be a restful evening, until Seamus and Dean arrived.

"Harry! We've been looking for you!" Dean flung himself down on the sofa between Harry and Hermione, who scowled and shifted to one side. Dean began rummaging in his bag. "Found it last weekend in Hogsmeade – I bought a couple, thought you'd fancy one - "

He produced a thick cardboard tube. From inside he rolled a large poster of two playful young women, riding naked on a broom and apparently feeling quite affectionate towards one another. Harry's first thought was that it was quite a nice broom, and his second thought was what a gay thought the first had been. His third thought was of Seamus and Dean watching him with wide grins, waiting for a reaction.

"Oh! Yeah – yeah, guys. That's lovely."

"Want one for your side of the dorm?"

"Sure! Sure – I'd love one. How much?"

"Two sickles," said Seamus, and Harry reached into his pocket for spare change. "How about you, Weasley? Fancy one for your room back home?"

Ron's ears went pink. He mumbled something about he didn't think his mother would let it in the house, to which Hermione said, waspishly, "Good for Mrs Weasley."

"So we can't tempt you at all, Granger?" said Dean. He grinned, waving the poster alluringly in her direction. "Not your cup of tea? Not even a little curious? Might be good for you, have some fun, loosen up a bit..."

Hermione's lips thinned. "No thank you. I've got a brain in my skull."

Harry took the poster Dean handed him, stuffing it into his bag. He hoped they wouldn't expect him to put it up straightaway. His only available poster space was taken up by the new Nimbus model due out in November, and he didn't really want to replace it with reckless flying lesbians. It would also be difficult to explain if Draco ever got into the dormitory.

As he listened to Hermione and Dean bicker, he reached up to scratch the side of his neck. He had an itch starting.

"So what, pretty girls with nice tits can't have brains too? That's not very _feminist_, Granger. I'm shocked."

"These women aren't _real_, Dean! They're so airbrushed they might as well not have bothered taking a photograph at all."

"Yeah, yeah. That's what all the girls say who don't look like these girls, funnily enough."

" - and if you think you could ever pull one of these models, you're a complete buffoon. Most of them are so stuck-up - "

"Hey, if any of these chicks fancy being _stuck-up_, I'd be more than happy to oblige."

"Oh, for goodness sake. How can you – "

Harry was sinking back into thoughts of Severus and Draco, only dimly aware of the argument beside him, when a hand suddenly shot out and grabbed his wrist. He looked round. Seamus was staring at his neck where he'd been scratching.

Harry frowned. "What - ?" he began, then realised. Horror spread through him.

He shoved Seamus's hand away and hauled up the neck of his t-shirt, covering his neck, but it was too late. Seamus grabbed for him.

"Potter! Whoa, whoa, _Potter_ – was that what I think it was?!"

"Get off! It's not anything!"

"It was! It _was_!"

"Get off!" Harry struggled to his feet, backing away. His shoulders hunched. "I don't know what you're talking about, alright?"

Seamus started to laugh. "You don't? I'm talking about the huge _hickey_, Potter!"

Dean and Hermione's argument stuttered to a halt. Ron looked up from the calendar, startled. Harry felt the colour rise into his cheeks and he glared at Seamus, trying to scoff.

"What hickey? I've not got a hickey. Who would I get a hickey from?"

"That's what I want to know!" Seamus said, grinning and standing up. He advanced. "Come on, show us it! Show it off, Potter, let's see!"

"There's nothing to show!"

"Oh really?"

Seamus lunged. Harry tried to dodge but tripped, and his back hit the wall beside the fireplace. Before he could defend himself, Seamus had grabbed him and was hauling at the neck of his t-shirt, dragging it aside. Panic spiked in Harry's chest.

"_There_!" Seamus crowed. "There, look at that! _Jesus_, Potter - that's a beauty!"

Other Gryffindors were turning to stare. Harry struggled and kicked Seamus away, dragging his t-shirt back into place.

"It's a bruise, alright?" he said, angrily. He could see Ron and Hermione staring from the sofa. "I fell – I fell and caught my neck in detention – _idiot_. It's not a hickey."

Dean's grin looked as if it would soon shatter off his face.

"_That _was a hickey," he said. "So who is it, Potter? Who's the lucky lady?"

"There isn't one. It's a bruise."

"Come off it! What's her name? Which house is she in?"

Seamus started laughing. "It's a Slytherin, it must be! That's why he's hiding it!"

"It's not!" Harry shouted, shaking. His heart pounded with terror. Severus and Draco's faces whirled before him and he tried to push them away, as if Dean and Seamus would read his thoughts and it would all be discovered. "Look, you've – you've got it all wrong. I've _not_ got a girlfriend."

"Then who gave you the _hickey_?" Dean said. They were closing in. "Come on Potter – let's have another look! Are there any more? How far did you get?"

"Leave me alone!" Harry yelled, but they grabbed him again. He couldn't fight both of them. "_Get off!_"

The entirety of Gryffindor House had now turned to watch. He struggled and tried to twist out of Dean and Seamus's grip, but there was nowhere to escape. They pinned him up against the wall and ripped at the neck of his t-shirt. People were laughing, crowding round, and Harry's shouts went ignored. His heart was hammering in his ears.

"There's more!" he heard Seamus laughing, stretching the neck past his shoulder. "Jesus, _look_ at all these!!"

"They're all over this side too!" Dean shouted. Harry wanted to be sick. He wanted to vanish. "Get his shirt off, Seamus!"

"Right!"

Harry kicked with all his might, fighting and yelling as they grappled for his t-shirt. He couldn't see Ron or Hermione. He couldn't make out faces in the crowd, just a mass of people staring and laughing, and he could hear them chanting: "_Off! Off! Off! Off!_" He aimed a kick at Seamus's knees but missed. Dean twisted his arms over his head. He felt his t-shirt tear down one arm and he screwed his eyes tight shut, horror beyond anything he'd known rising up in his throat like bile as they exposed his chest to the crowd.

This morning, in the quiet and safety of Severus's bedroom, the bites hadn't seemed too bad. They were noticeable, yes, but they weren't _horrific. _They were secrets. They were little reminders, little promises, and he almost liked the thought of carrying around his lovers' carnal signatures.

In the firelight, and with an audience, the bites seemed almost luminous. They stood out against his pale skin in sharp relief, vivid and blotchy, and there were easily fifteen. They trailed along his sides, all across his collarbones and peppered gently about his nipples. The proudest was just near the left, where Severus had sealed his lips and teeth and sucked and the pain had been so good that Harry came crying in floods.

A hushed silence fell over the crowd.

Harry swallowed, panting, and they finally let him go. He dropped to his knees. His shirt was in ribbons, and there was no covering himself up now.

"Jesus, Potter," Seamus whispered. He cracked a grin again. "That's two girls – look, they're different. _Two_. Potter, you stallion."

"Go on, Harry," said Dean. "Who are they?"

Harry struggled to think. His heart was trying to fight its way out of his throat. "They're not at Hogwarts – you won't know them."

"Hogsmeade girls?" said Dean. "I've heard they're real slags on a weekend."

"Yeah. Yeah, they are."

"Like to get rough, do they?"

Harry's stomach twisted. It wasn't rough, he wanted to say. He wanted to say that no-one here could have a hope of understanding what it was like. He wanted to open his mouth and say that Professor Snape fucked hard and slow but never rough, and that after every love bite, Draco lapped the skin gently and blew across the wet patch and it made every hair on Harry's body stand on end. _It's not rough_, he wanted to say, _it's love_.

"Yeah," he croaked out at last. "Yeah, I guess so."

There was silence. People were still staring, but there was awkwardness in the air now. The laughter had ended.

A fissure of anger sizzled across Harry's chest, thinking of how careful he'd been for weeks, months, and how two fucking idiots had ruined it in five minutes. If Severus heard about this, he'd end everything without a second thought and the best thing that had ever happened to Harry would be over.

"So – so are you happy now?" He glared up at Seamus and Dean, shaking. He struggled to his feet. "You've got your gossip now, have you? Anything else?"

The crowd were looking away, drifting. A few people were giggling nervously, but they were by far a minority. Some others were blushing. Seamus and Dean, ashen-faced, began to mutter apologies. Before they had even finished, Harry heard the portrait hole open and shut, and he knew the news of Harry Potter's sordid Hogsmeade threesomes would be round the school by morning. Severus would freak. He would never speak to Harry again, never look at him again.

"Look – look, forget it," Harry said, viciously. He grabbed for his school bag and his book. "So long as you guys think it's funny, that's great. And thanks for ruining my shirt. I'm really grateful."

"Harry... come on." Dean, now incredibly awkward, tried to smile. "It's just a bit of fun. And it's... it's really cool. I mean – two – _wow_!"

Harry stopped, halfway to the dormitory staircase. He turned back.

He slugged his fist, hard, into Dean's gut. Dean doubled over. There were gasps from the few people still watching, and Dean slid to the floor, clutching his stomach. Silence rang.

"A-alright," Dean managed, grimacing with pain. "Fair play to you."

Harry glanced at Seamus, who backed away quickly. More and more people were hurrying out of the portrait hole now. Harry wondered if he could ever run fast enough to reach the dungeons before the gossip got there, and if there was anything he could say to make Severus and Draco come near him ever again.

In the end, there was nothing he could say or do. The damage was done. He turned and hurried away up the dormitory staircase, hearing the common room burst into shocked laughter and gossip behind him.

He slammed the dormitory door behind him and collapsed on his bed. He covered his face with his hands.

It was several minutes before the door opened. Ron crept into the room.

"Harry...?"

Harry said nothing. He wanted to die. He heard Ron come closer and sit gingerly on the end of his bed in the dark, and he could feel the weight of Ron's eyes up and down his bitten chest. A very long time passed.

Then Ron said, "That... that was out of order. Ganging up on you like that. I mean... I tried to get to the front but there were so many people, I couldn't – "

"It's – it's okay, Ron. It's alright." Harry took a long breath. "Oh God, this is going to be round the school in minutes. I... I can't go to classes tomorrow. I can't."

Ron hesitated. "You never know," he tried. He nudged Harry's arm. "People might think it's pretty cool. You could be the school stud by morning."

Harry wanted to cry. "I don't think so – thanks anyway, Ron."

"_I_ think it's cool." There was a pause. "But – I mean, I'm kind of hurt. I thought we told each other everything. I mean... wow, Harry. I had no idea. All this time I thought we were both – you know – not messing around with girls yet, but... but you've been keeping it a secret..."

Harry didn't know what to say. "It's... it's really complicated. You probably don't want to know."

"Who are they?" Ron asked, and there was a note of desperation in his voice. "It's... it's not Hermione and my sister, is it?"

Harry couldn't help but laugh.

"No – no, it's not. I promise."

Ron exhaled. "Okay, good. So long as... good." He coughed. "So, who are they?"

"Some – some girls I know from a pub in Hogsmeade. It's not a big deal. It was just the once and we didn't get that far."

"Right." Ron didn't believe him. Harry supposed the rest of the school wouldn't, either. "How come you didn't tell me?"

"It didn't seem a big deal."

Ron shifted. "Alright."

There was a long silence. Harry found himself wishing he'd sealed the portrait hole the second his shirt had been torn away. He replayed the moment in exact detail. If he'd locked the door, he could have wiped everyone's memories including his own, and this might have never happened.

Already, people would be knocking on the doors of the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw Common Rooms, telling their friends from other houses. People would even be sprinting through the dungeons to let the Slytherins know. At times like this, house boundaries meant nothing – gossip was gossip.

He wouldn't go to classes tomorrow, he decided. Maybe not for the next week. Maybe he could just leave school, in fact, and take his NEWTs by post. He could leave the wizarding world entirely. He could become a muggle and get a job in a café somewhere, or become a hermit and wander the London Underground raving about wizards and dragons and people on heat.

"You'll be alright," Ron said, from somewhere very far away. Harry didn't open his eyes. "You're not the first guy to have a threesome. And it could be worse."

Harry wondered what would make the situation worse, in Ron's eyes. He supposed it would be if Harry was having sex with, say, Draco Malfoy. Or Professor Snape. If he was having regular sex with them, and was in fact in love with them, and until about ten minutes ago was entertaining delusions about living with them after Hogwarts and adopting a little dog together.

"Oh God, Ron. You have no idea."

"Nah, mate. Cheer up. Things'll look better in the morning."

*

The dormitory was empty when Harry woke up. He knew from the presence of daylight and the lack of sound, rather than anything else. He'd spelled his curtains shut last night, not wanting to see or be seen by anyone.

He dragged the covers up about his head and turned to face the wall, groaning. The Great Hall would be buzzing with the news. If Draco had even recovered from his season yet, he'd have to spend the day pretending to find the whole thing funny rather than horrifying. He'd have to make loud, crowing jokes about Harry Potter's sex life to anyone that would listen. He'd have to spread the news, or people would be suspicious.

Had Severus found out yet? Harry didn't want to think about it. Had Professor McGonagall heard? Professor Dumbledore?

Harry groaned into his covers. Professor Dumbledore would find out he'd had a threesome. The school gossip machine had probably turned it into some kind of sadomasochistic orgy by now. He had a horrible momentary vision of Dumbledore turning to McGonagall at the staff table over breakfast, and saying, "Minerva, what exactly _is_ an orgy?"

What if someone told the papers? What if Rita Skeeter found out?

No; he definitely wouldn't get out of bed today. He was much safer here.

He rolled over, emerging at last from under the covers, and something brushed his cheek. He opened his eyes.

On the pillow beside him laid a long brown envelope. Harry frowned. He picked it up, flipped it to the light and read across the front:

_Mr H Potter_

There was no further address. He tore the envelope open and tugged out the note, reading it. The letters were cut out of newspapers. He read the message before recognition dawned, and when it did, it felt like the blood in his veins had turned to ice.

The last standing bit of Harry's world came crashing down around his ears.

_WHicH Is yOUr favOUrItE?_, the letter read. _YOur hAlf-brEEd mALfoy? oR youR oLD MaN seVErUs?_


	9. They

*****

**Triquetra**

_**By Mottlemoth**_

*****

**Chapter Nine – They**

A few days passed. Harry forced himself out of bed before the sun had even risen, buttoned his cloak high against a pre-dawn February chill, and headed out into the grounds. The courtyard near the greenhouses was deserted. Everything was lightly sugared with frost, and eerily still. Harry sat down to wait.

It wasn't long before Draco – in all his splendour – strolled through the decorative iron gate. His hair flickered in a quiet breeze. Harry's heart soared a little, but judging by the look on Draco's face, the feeling was not mutual today. He tried a smile. It was met with only a raised eyebrow.

"Hi," Harry said.

Draco folded his arms, unimpressed. He had stopped halfway across the courtyard, refusing to come any nearer.

"Do you want me to scream at you before you explain," he offered, "or after? Or both? I'm flexible, Potter."

Harry winced at the name. "Look... before you scream at all, I didn't mean to – "

"You didn't _mean_ to!?" Draco crowed. Harry twitched, shooting a nervous glance up at Gryffindor Tower – they could be seen from the windows. He hoped they couldn't be heard too. Draco didn't seem to care. "How can you not _mean to_ show off a load of lovebites and brag they're from, and I quote, 'a couple of Hogsmeade slags'?"

"_Whoa_, what version did you get?" Harry stood up; Draco took a step back, maintaining the distance between them. "I didn't _show them off_," Harry implored. "I didn't _brag_. I was pinned down and stripped in front of my entire house, thanks."

Draco snorted. "I hope you enjoyed it," he said waspishly. "It's the last 'pinned down and stripped' you'll be having for a while."

Harry rolled his eyes. "There was nothing I could do," he said. "I tried to get free but I couldn't."

Draco said nothing, his arms still folded. Harry swallowed.

"Look," he said. "We've got more to worry about. I didn't ask you to come so you could tell me you don't believe me. I already _know_ that."

He reached into his pocket for the new letter and held it out.

"This came the morning after. It was on my pillow."

Draco's face creased. "Oh, you're kidding..." He snatched the envelope, ripping it open. "What is it they're demanding? Every knut my family's ever earned?"

He read the letter. Harry watched the colour drain from his face.

"Oh God..." Draco put a hand to his temple, looking as if he might start screaming after all. "How – how do they _know_? How could someone have found out?"

"I don't know," Harry said. He took a few steps closer, emboldened when he wasn't rebuked for it. "There's still no demand. And – and at least they know everything now. We know we're dealing with – "

"At _least_ they know everything?" Draco parroted, alarmed. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

Harry fell silent. He didn't think it was smart to keep talking. Draco scowled at him, glancing back down at the letter.

"All week," he said, staring at the note with pained eyes, "Severus and I have been giggling over the Harry-Potter-Hogwarts-Studmuffin rumours. And you've had this in your pocket."

"You've been seeing Severus?"

"Mm." Draco frowned. "Every night."

"Maybe someone saw you leaving his rooms," Harry suggested, and knew at once he'd said the wrong thing yet again. Draco flared.

"Or maybe," the blonde raged, "someone's seen _you_ strutting round with two sets of lovebites, heard you boasting, realised how much time you spend doing 'Potions research' and put two-and-two together?! How's that for a theory!?"

He threw the letter at Harry. It fluttered several feet across the courtyard and Harry ran after it, scooping it up and brushing the frost away. They would need it. It was all the evidence of their blackmailer they had.

"So it's a Gryffindor," Draco said. "It's one of _your _lot. Someone who sleeps in your dormitory and you've not even realised."

Harry shook his head. He couldn't imagine even Dean or Seamus doing this. "It's not. I know it's not."

"Oh, come on. It must be one of them. Is it Weasley?"

"_Ron – _no! Of course it's not!"

"How sure are you?"

Harry's teeth gritted. He was determined not to get angry and make things worse than they already were. "_Certain._"

"I'm not."

"Well, I _am_. Alright?" Harry screwed the letter back into its envelope. "Believe me, if Ron knew about this, he wouldn't go to the trouble of blackmail letters. He'd just beat me into a pulp and throw me out of the tower window. He'd just tell everyone. It's _not_ Ron."

"Then is it Longbottom? Finnigan, Thomas? Severus said the letter was done the muggle way. Which of them is it with the football poster?" Draco sneered. "I don't know why we aren't going to see Dumbledore now."

"It's not any of them!" Harry said, hotly. He knew it in his heart. Gryffindors couldn't lie. "None of them have the malice to do this - "

Draco shook his head in disbelief. "No wonder we've been found out," he said. "Our blackmailer is under your nose and you can't even see who it is."

Harry didn't answer for several seconds. He was too angry and didn't want to be. He let the frost sink into his ears and his cheeks and freeze some of his annoyance before he spoke.

"More people can get into the dormitories than just Gryffindors," he said. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself. "Besides, who says it's someone in our year? It could be somebody older. Younger. It could be a staff member. Someone in another house could have given it to a Gryffindor to deliver. It could have been sent by owl."

Draco was no longer looking at Harry. "All I'm hearing are excuses," he said quietly. "Pointless excuses. We need to find this person. We need to stop them."

"It's not a Gryffindor," Harry managed, unsure what else he had to say.

Draco said nothing. He turned away, his shoulders set, and headed quietly for the gate. Harry hurried after him.

"Dray – "

"Go away, Harry!"

"Draco, stop – "

Draco sped up. "Leave me _alone_!" he shouted. "Go to Hogsmeade, go find some _slags_ – "

Harry hadn't been a Seeker for six years to let things get away from him. He hurried after Draco down the steps to the courtyard, catching him at the bottom and pulling him back round. Draco staggered and turned.

There came a short, vicious slash across Harry's cheek. It stung like nothing he'd felt before. Draco's slap seemed to short-circuit his brain and everything reeled, the world flipping itself upside down.

When the shock finally ebbed and his mind caught back up with him, he found himself sprawled on the icy stone steps. Draco was on top of him, kissing him furiously. Draco's tears ran warm down Harry's cheeks.

Unable to comprehend anything else, Harry wrapped his arms around his boyfriend. He kissed back.

Draco's cloak had fallen over them across the frosty ground, covering where they lay. They kissed beneath it until Draco's tears had stopped and Harry's back was beginning to ache from the sharp stone edges.

Their lips came apart. They stared at each other, faces still touching.

"What are we going to do?" Harry asked, swallowing.

Draco reached into the pocket of Harry's jeans, tugging the letter free. "I'll take this to Severus," he whispered. "He needs to know. You... you'd better stay away, now we're all watched. It's a shorter journey for me. Nobody will question why I'm in the dungeons."

"Okay. That's best." Harry searched the blonde's face. "Is he really angry about the rumours?"

"What rumours?"

"The, uh... the Harry-Potter-Studmuffin rumours."

Draco's lips curled. "Strangely, no. He thinks it's hilarious. I had to talk him out of congratulating you at breakfast."

Harry groaned. Draco laughed, stealing a kiss and pushing his hands up through Harry's hair, persuading it into even more of a mess than usual. Harry's glasses were skewed on his nose. He hoped he'd have time to restore his appearance before classes began.

"Is Severus still freaking out about commitment?" he asked against Draco's lips.

Draco tutted. "Probably," he said, and then took on a worried look. "I suppose this letter won't help things."

He eased off Harry at last, sitting up. Harry winced. He'd have bruises from the steps across his back now – he just hoped Dean and Seamus didn't decide to strip him again. He really would have to take better care of his body.

"Come to Severus's rooms in a few days," Draco said, helping him up and dusting the frost from his clothes. "After Potions. Make sure no-one sees you... then again, I suppose if this person already _knows_ about the three of us..."

"We can still be careful. We don't want them to get photographs or anything."

Draco smoothed down his own hair. "Don't," he said. "I don't want to think about it. Will you be in Transfiguration?"

"Yes... I've got to grab my bag first. I left it on my bed."

"Alright. I'll see you then, I guess." Draco paused. "I might have to send a few comments your way. It's all for appearances, though. You know that, don't you?"

Harry nodded. "I know, I know... it's okay. Say what you want. Water off a duck's back."

And Draco grinned.

"Marvellous," he purred. "Severus and I have been rehearsing all week. You're not going to enjoy Potions on Friday one bit."

*

The huge gap between the first letter and the second meant that, when Harry unzipped his bag as they sat down in Transfiguration an hour later, he didn't realise the significance of the brown envelope poking up from amongst his books. He pulled it out and flipped it over. _Mr H Potter. _

It was sealed.

Pretending to search his bag for his essay, he bent low under the table and slit the letter open. His heart was thumping in his ears. He shook the note free.

_hELLo HArrY._

He'd never seen a more sinister use of his name. He read on, trying to keep breathing.

_bY ThE wAY: dID you KnOW tHeY FUck wIThoUT yOU? DiD yOu kNOw thEYre in LOvE?_

Harry scowled.

He folded the letter up, cramming it back into the envelope. The appearance of a third letter, so soon after the second, wasn't great – but at least this person finally had their facts wrong. Severus and Draco only fucked without him when Draco was on season, and even then, it was a thing of necessity. It was a rehearsal for when Harry joined them. Their blackmailer couldn't even begin to understand the complexities of it.

The class began. Harry handed in his essay, and even though he had better things to worry about, he noticed that Professor McGonagall didn't quite meet his eyes as she took the scroll. No-one in the castle had looked at him properly for several days now. Even the great Minerva McGonagall wasn't immune to gossip, it seemed.

She signed his journal to say the essay had been received, handing it back to him at arm's length.

"Thanks, professor," he mumbled.

"You're welcome, Potter," she said, thinned her lips in his direction, and moved on.

Harry was about to duck under the table and re-read the letter, to check if it really had said what he thought it said, when there came a hiss from behind him. Something prodded him in the back.

"Pssst. _Potter_."

Harry went still. "What is it, Malfoy?" he said, without looking round. He tried to ignore the tingle in his shoulder where Draco had touched him.

"Rather awkward moment with McGonagall there," the blonde murmured. "She's not one of your Hogsmeade slags, is she? Potter, McGonagall and Sprout behind the greenhouses. Sexy."

A lot of giggling broke out from the students around them. Hermione, next to Harry, made a noise of distaste. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Go suck Snape's cock, Malfoy," he muttered.

"No thank you, Potter. I avoid sucking anything that's been in your arse."

"You only wish you could get near my arse, goldilocks. You'd pay good money."

"Oh, Potter. What would you know about good money?"

"I know I don't need any to get myself a threesome," Harry said, coolly. There were shocked gasps and giggles – Hermione, scandalised, turned on him with a hushed "_Harry!_", and McGonagall had noticed at last. She barked for quiet.

They returned to their notes with bowed heads and rigid shoulders, and the rest of the hour passed in complete silence.

*

_Did you know they fuck without you? Did you know they're in love?_

Harry sat cross-legged on his bed during his free class that afternoon, staring down at the latest letter. He'd worked on his Charms research for ten minutes, pretending not to care about the horrible note in his bag – it hadn't worked. He did care, and he couldn't work out why.

He sat looking down at the jumble of snipped-out letters, following their peaks and their dips, the angles, the smudges of glue here and there.

This one seemed different to the others. It was longer, which made it somehow much more sinister in Harry's mind – but there was something else.

After ten minutes staring at the letter, he realised it was the personal edge this one had.

The previous letters, while seemingly directed at him, asking him questions, hadn't been so... close. _Hi Harry_. It was beyond creepy. The questions, too – the previous questions were obviously meant for Severus and Draco's eyes, too. These weren't. These really were just for Harry. _Did you know they're in love?_

It didn't bug him. Of course it didn't – what did this person know? They might have seen Harry coming out of Severus's rooms one morning, then Draco leaving a little later, and Severus at breakfast looking rather smug. His blackmailer had probably hit upon a lucky guess.

Sure, they'd discovered what was the greatest secret currently kept in Hogwarts, and apparently with ease. It meant nothing. Somebody more paranoid than Harry might have wondered if this person really _could_ know more than he did – if they had access to secrets he didn't.

Fortunately, Harry was secure in himself. He was secure in what he had with Severus and Draco. He was completely secure.

Still.

He pushed the letter away and returned to his Charms research, deciding once and for all that it was nonsense. This person knew nothing.

Five minutes later, he picked the letter back up. He wandered about the room, reading it. He held it up to the light, trying to discern any fingerprints, but the smudges were too messy. He sat back down and scowled at the questions, screwing up his nose.

_Did you know they fuck without you?_

Of course they did. He'd been with Severus alone. He'd been with Draco alone. They each knew about it. He knew they must be together alone sometimes, and he actually found it quite hot, thank you very much. Their relationship was secure. He wasn't worried.

_Did you know they're in love?_

Of course he did. He hoped they were, anyway. Severus might not say it but they were in love, as a three – they were all in love. Why would Severus and Draco be in love with each other, but not Harry? Just a few days ago, Severus had been freaking out because Draco was in love with him. In love with them both.

At least - that was what Severus _said_ was the matter.

Harry scowled at himself – it was a bad thought. A dangerous thought. He shoved it away along with the letter, and returned to his research.

He didn't think about anything but Charms. He didn't think about how Severus had warned him not to come that night, how he'd then stressed to Harry there was no future in their love, and apparently gotten freaked out about something minor and out-of-the-blue. He didn't think about the dream he'd had weeks ago now, watching Severus and Draco leave the grounds without him, hand-in-hand. He didn't think about Severus's jealousy, when Harry had called Draco his boyfriend; he didn't think about Severus's attempt to reject a blow job from Harry, having shagged Draco all night and day, or how Draco had joined them and Severus came kissing him.

He didn't think about this morning with Draco. _All week Severus and I have been giggling over the rumours. You've been seeing Severus? Mm, every night._

Then when Draco slipped the letter from his pocket. _I'll take this to Severus_, he'd said_. You'd better stay away, now we're all watched. _Then something about how Draco could still go. Harry hadn't really heard. He hadn't been listening.

He was listening now.

A strange weight had settled in Harry's chest, and it was sitting there now as he looked down at the letter held tight between his fingers. He ran his eyes over each word. _Harry, fuck, love, they. _Draco and Severus weren't a _'they'_. They were an _'us'._

This person knew nothing, he told himself, sealing the letter and throwing it into his chest of drawers. He buried it under balled-up socks. He didn't know how his blackmailer had gotten hold of his bag, but whoever it was certainly didn't have access to Severus and Draco's hearts.

There was nothing wrong. It wasn't a problem.

It wasn't even worth thinking about.

*

Harry slept little between the arrival of the third letter and Potions on Friday afternoon. He hoped it wasn't showing too much. His friends seemed to think the rumours and gossip were finally getting to him, and Harry was happy to let them believe this.

The class filed into Potions in silence, reached their desks and took out work for the day. Harry kept his head low. It didn't work.

"Ah, excellent." Snape's voice carried over the sound of zips and rustling paper. "Mr Potter, how good of you to return to us. May I inquire where you were during last lesson?"

Harry glanced up. Severus was sitting behind his desk, languid in his chair with a quill held between his long fingers, and his black eyes were gleaming. The look turned Harry's stomach upside-down.

"I was ill, sir," he said.

"Indeed? With anything serious?"

Harry was aware of the whole class listening in expectantly. They'd probably looked forward to this class all week. Harry certainly hadn't. "No, sir," he said, rather numb, begging the black eyes to be merciful. "Not really."

"Just exhaustion, I expect."

There were titters all around. Harry frowned, pulling out his textbooks and checking carefully between them for letters, of which there were none. Severus leant back in his chair and addressed the class.

"For the next two sessions," he said, "you will be brewing the drafts outlined on the board. The most astute among you will notice there are two. Attempt whichever you feel most confident about first, and research the second ahead of the next session. To clarify: you will tackle _one_ of these tasks at a time. I want no-one attempting to handle both at once. Is that quite clear?"

The class mumbled in ascent. Harry waited.

"Potter, is that clear with you?"

Harry gritted his teeth as the class giggled behind their textbooks. "Yes, sir."

"Splendid. You may all begin work. I expect no interruptions."

Harry was among the last to finish. His lack of sleep and several days of sexless paranoia were catching up with him, dulling his focus. He staggered to the front after an hour of solid toil, soot in his eyebrows and his sleeves badly singed. He dropped the sealed canister into Snape's tray.

"Thank you, Potter. No problems?"

"No, sir."

"You weren't too bored with just the one assignment, I hope."

Harry wondered if punching Severus would make things better or worse. He doubted things could get much worse, but decided against it anyway. He supposed a comment would make him feel better.

"Perish the thought of someone being bored in Potions, sir," he said.

Severus's eyebrows rose. He was impressed – Harry saw it in his eyes, and it lightened his heart ever so slightly. The thought of seeing Severus and Draco tonight made things momentarily better.

"Indeed, Potter," Severus murmured. "Do enjoy your weekend. Not too much."

"Cheers, sir. I'm sure I will."

*****

Harry wasn't sure what time he would be expected in Severus's rooms. Before the letters, he'd always gone later rather than earlier – that way, there was more chance of Severus letting the two of them spend the night. It wasn't a wise option now.

In the end, immediately after dinner, he excused himself to the library and told his friends he'd be an hour or two. Hermione asked him to bring back some books with him, scribbling the titles on a piece of paper. He promised he would.

The entrance hall was busy with people leaving dinner and discussing weekend plans – nobody gave Harry a second glance as he slipped down into the dungeons. The corridor was empty. He leant against the tapestry, whispering the key for the wards, thinking Draco and Severus might not even be here yet.

It would be nice just to relax, he thought, as the door appeared. He missed their nest. More than anything in the world, he needed Draco's kiss and Severus's scent, and he needed them both at once. He let himself in, closing the door quietly behind him and relishing the flush of warmth from the fire.

The moment the door shut, he realised he was in error. Draco and Severus _were_ here already.

The door to the bedroom was open, and the light from the fireplace reached far enough inside for the bed to be visible. They were there together, naked. They were having sex. Draco was sprawled on top of the covers, moaning and whimpering weakly with his ankles crossed over Severus's back. Severus was panting, intoning Draco's name.

As Harry stood near the door, waiting, he realised they hadn't noticed his arrival. They hadn't heard him come in. They continued, oblivious, the pace increasing and their moans growing louder until Harry could pick out the words in Draco's whimpers: "Love you – o-oh God, _love you_..."

Harry watched. An uncomfortable feeling was growing in his abdomen, stretching. He didn't know if he should make some noise to announce his arrival, or if it was worse just to stand here and wait for them, watching, ignored.

They'd started without him.

He glanced at the grandfather clock – it wasn't even half five yet. They probably hadn't expected him for hours, until seven at last. Would they just have laid in bed making love without him until then?

Anger rose in his chest, anger at himself. Why did it matter? Why was he upset? What was wrong with his lovers having sex together? He loved them both; they loved him. They could have sex whenever they wanted, and he didn't care, so what was the problem?

He knew the problem.

It was in his pocket, now, folded into a brown envelope. _Did you know they fuck without you? Did you know they're in love?_ It wasn't Draco's season. He wasn't even on heat. Why hadn't they waited for him? He always felt guilty starting without one of them. It wasn't right. They were a three.

The more he watched, the more discomfort prickled in his stomach and around his heart. Draco's vocalisations in sex usually turned him on like nothing else in the world. Now, they were making him feel faintly sick. They'd started without him. They fucked without him. Not even Draco's heat.

And then, from the mess of moans, he heard Severus's voice come strained and soft.

"You – " Severus swallowed. "I love you."

Draco let out a high-pitched whimper. "_Oh..._" His arms tightened. "Love you. Love you, Rus."

Harry stood in the door, numb to the core. Severus never said 'I love you', especially not during sex. Never in his life had Harry heard Severus come out with those words, until now.

This was the first time – watching Severus and Draco fuck without him. They didn't even know he was here. He wasn't even in their heads. They couldn't care less. And _Rus? _Who was _Rus?_

The nausea came sudden and sharp, too powerful to withstand, and Harry couldn't stay quiet as he exited the room at speed. He flew for the door and heard it sucked into the wall behind him as he bolted for the nearest bathroom. He made it, barely.

As he heaved the contents of his stomach into the bowl, Harry felt sweat breaking out at his back. He could hear the letter repeating in his head. He could imagine a voice behind it now, a person, and he heard them laughing, _I told you so, Harry._

He arrived back at Gryffindor Tower fifteen minutes later, pale and silent, the vomit washed from around his mouth.

He laid a stack of books at Hermione's elbow without a word.

"Oh! Thanks, Harry... you're brilliant."

He looked down at her, feeling his heart fight to get out of his chest. He couldn't stop seeing Severus and Draco together in the half-dark, moaning that they loved each other, not even aware of Harry's existence. Severus _never_ told Harry he loved them.

Maybe he didn't.

Maybe Harry's blackmailer wasn't the bad guy at all.

Hermione was writing, silently, her tongue between her teeth and the quill point flying across the parchment. Harry watched her. He wanted to speak more than anything in the world. Hermione had the answers for everything else in life – would she have some answers now? Would she keep it a secret? Would she even _believe_ him?

He didn't know what she could say to make things better. After all, it wasn't Hermione he needed to talk to.

But they were busy. Busy without him.

Harry closed his mouth, too afraid. He drifted away to his dormitory, leaving her to her essay, his heart as low as if he dragged it behind him. He crawled fully-clothed into bed, and there he stayed. He spent the weekend ignoring owls from Draco and questions from his friends. He spent his Monday classes with his head low, shoulders hunched and wanting to disappear.

*

On Monday evening, a raven appeared at the dormitory window and rapped on the glass with its beak. A scroll was tethered to its leg with blood-red string. Harry ignored the bird until cracks began to spider across the pane, and the thought of explaining the breakage to Filch inspired Harry into action. Reluctantly he crossed the room and jemmied open the casement.

The raven swooped inside, landing on Neville's lamp. It held out its leg.

"Let me guess who you're from," Harry muttered, kneeling and untying the careful knot. The raven cawed.

The scroll was several inches long, space left for him to pen some kind of response. At the top, in a tight black scrawl, was written:

_What the devil is the matter with you? What is wrong? I expect a reply. Am highly concerned._

Harry considered his reply for the better part of twenty minutes. In this time, Draco's screech owl arrived and perched itself on Neville's lamp, next to the raven. The birds began to groom each other. Harry glared, picked up a quill and responded to Severus's note.

_Don't want to talk. Your bird has cracked my window. Tell Draco to stop wasting his ink._

He bent down to remove the little envelope attached to the screech owl's leg. He tossed it out of the window without reading. He then approached the raven to reattach the scroll, but Draco's owl – now message-less – seemed to decide they would carry it together. It nipped Harry until he put the scroll down and backed away, his fingers bleeding.

As he watched them soar into the night sky, the scroll held between them, Harry decided things couldn't get much worse.


	10. Lines For The Little Boy

*****

**Triquetra**

_**By Mottlemoth**_

*****

**Chapter Ten – Lines for the Little Boy**

Harry had been in close proximity with neither Draco nor Severus since discovering them on Friday night, and this was very much how he wanted things to stay. Unfortunately, Potions put an end to his solitude. He spent much of the night before dreading the class, telling his dorm mates he had an upset stomach, and he slept uneasily.

As he and Hermione made their way towards the dungeons, he was aware of loping slightly. He felt almost drunk with the lack of energy and the emotional stress. Hermione was watching him closely, her lips pursed.

"Harry," she said at last, as they descended the stone steps.

"Hmm?" he managed.

"You... you really don't look well. We're worried about you. You've not been right for weeks."

"I've probably got a bug," he croaked, dry-throated. "I'll go to Madame Pomfrey for Pepper Up at lunch time. I promise."

"You don't usually get colds," she said, pained, and held open the door for him. He stumbled through. "Harry, if... if there's something on your mind..."

In any other moment, these words would have been very welcome to Harry. They had just reached the classroom though, and Draco was standing at the back of the line.

At first sight, Harry knew he hadn't been sleeping either. Dark smudges marred the pristine skin beneath his eyes, and his hair hung limp and thin. It had none of its usual white-gold shimmer. He looked positively ill. As Harry and Hermione approached, Draco looked up and the two boys met eyes along the length of the corridor.

Harry was first to look away, his shoulders tensing. Savage anger and distress bubbled in his chest. Who cared if Draco was ill? He hadn't been ill last Friday. He'd been well enough then.

Draco was still watching Harry as they joined the end of the queue. Harry ignored him until he realised Hermione was looking between them, frowning, her lip bitten.

"What's with the staring, Malfoy?" he jeered, hating the hollowness he heard in his own voice. He pretended he was Ron and the disregard came easier. "Have your face creams dissolved your brain or something?"

The classroom door opened.

"In," they heard Snape bark. No more was said. They filed inside, took their desks and pulled out textbooks and parchment.

Snape watched them all with a sharp eye from the front. Harry was still doing his best to be Ron.

"I have your assignments," Snape said when silence had fallen, and he gestured to a box of scrolls beside his desk. "Feedback is on each essay individually. As usual, the vast majority of you made mediocre attempts and nothing was up to the standard required of you at this stage in the year. Some performances were nothing short of abysmal. One, dire to an extreme."

They all shared nervous glances, except Harry, who already suspected what was coming. Snape leant back in his chair.

"Retrieve your essays," he said. "Then open your books to chapter seven. Quickly."

There was a general scrape of chairs as everyone hurried to the front, and began to root around in the box for their essays. Harry hung back. By the time he reached the front of the crowd, the box was completely empty. He stared.

Forgetting himself, he said, "Sir, my essay – ", and glanced up.

Severus's eyes pierced him to the soul. The professor was sitting quite still in his desk chair, holding one final essay, and his mouth had become a grim slash of displeasure. Harry felt a great glob of fear rise in his stomach at the sight. His anger, he realised all too late, could never match that of Severus Snape. He balled his fists beneath the sleeves of his robes, bracing for impact.

"Unacceptable, Potter," Severus murmured. He didn't need to raise his voice; the entire class were listening already.

Harry said nothing.

"Your attitude has, of late, been derisory. It has been inadequate. It has been beyond what I am prepared to tolerate." Snape sat forwards. "Potter, I'm not willing to explain anything further to you in front of your peers. You won't eat up my lesson time with your poor behaviour."

He thrust the scroll at Harry, jabbing him in the stomach.

"You are to serve detention," he said. "My office. Eight tonight. I expect you to attend."

Harry did not take the scroll. He knew the essay hadn't been derisory, and he knew the detention was nothing more than a cover. He was being summoned to explain himself. He stared into Snape's eyes and his heart was burning with anger and misery, thinking of his lovers making love and telling each other words Harry couldn't hear, keeping secrets. He hadn't even heard the horrible truth from them. They didn't even have that much regard for him. He'd had it spelled out by some stranger with newspaper clippings.

"I have an essay due tomorrow, sir," he said, loading the statement with as much venom and refusal as it could hold.

Severus's expression was absolutely motionless. "Poor pre-planning," he said. "For which you will accept the consequences in the morning. Tonight, you are detained. Return to your seat."

Harry's jaw worked. "I can't make it tonight."

"Oh, you _can_, Potter. You can and you will. Sit yourself down."

"I _can't_, sir."

"_I said sit yourself down, Potter._"

Harry knew he was gone. He was already lost. It was straight-down from here; there was nothing he could do.

"I won't be coming to the detention, _sir_. I'll come on another night."

"You'll come tonight, _Potter_. And if I have to waste one more word telling you to – "

"_I'm_ _busy tonight_!" Harry exploded, stunning the entire class into horrified silence. He had interrupted Snape. He saw the front row grip the edges of their desk, bracing for the explosion, but he ploughed ahead regardless. "I'll come later in the week, alright? What does it matter? What does it matter when I do some _stupid_ detention?"

Snape stood, saying nothing. Harry's legs were screaming at him to run.

"You think a detention's going to make me obey you?" he jeered, digging his nails into his palms. The classroom and the class were fading away, now. All he could see was Severus, and all he could hear was Severus moaning in his ascent to climax that he loved Draco. Heat began to break in Harry's eyes. "You think I care – " he bit out. "You think I _respect_ you in the slightest right now, you think that a detention will mean _so much_ to me that it'll change _anything – _"

Severus was shaking from the ground up, bearing over Harry. The class watched, horrified and pale. A few were covering their eyes.

"Go on," Harry spat, wanting to cry. He glared into Severus's eyes. "Shout at me - tell me what I already know – call me _'boy'_, go tell McGonagall, go get ready for your _cosy evening,_ just the _two_ of – "

Snape blew.

"_REMOVE YOURSELF FROM MY CLASSROOM THIS INSTANT!!!"_

The black eyes erupted with rage as he howled at Harry. Spit flew. The class almost jumped from their seats and Harry's entire reserve of courage vaporised in the space of half a second. He turned. He ran from the room, halfway through the door when his essay struck him squarely in the back of the head. He staggered.

"_Eight o' clock, Potter!!_" Severus raged from behind him. "_If you value your miserable little existence!!"_

_*_

By lunchtime, Harry was yet again the talk of the school. By three o' clock, the rumours had warped into some kind of brawl involving half the Potions class, and Ron was telling anyone who would listen that Harry had made Professor Snape cry. Harry, for once, did not hide in his dormitory. He stormed through the day's classes like a runaway locomotive, raging at anyone who tried to congratulate him in the corridors. Soon, wherever he went, there was a metre radius of clear space around him at all times.

At dinner, Professor Snape's chair at the staff table was very ominously empty. Rumours soon spread that Harry had hospitalised Snape during an hour-long duel through most of the dungeons. Harry's bad temper had reached such a point that he didn't care what people believed in the slightest. Even his friends sat some distance away during dinner.

He ate little and left early, saying nothing to anyone. A huddle of first years cowered as he passed.

The hours until eight o' clock seemed to crawl – it was like waiting to be executed for a crime he hadn't committed. Harry stalked Gryffindor Tower. He sat by the fire, brooding, glaring into the flames and holding the arms of his chair white-knuckled. Draco Malfoy's screech owl kept up an almost permanent vigil at the windows, tapping furiously to be let in even as the heavens opened and rain began to pour, just after seven. Harry barked at anyone who went near the windows, raging at them not to let it in. The owl gave up at five to eight, ghosting away into the storm, and Harry held out for three minutes more.

He stood up, swept his cloak from the stand by the portrait hole and slung it on. Ron appeared at his side, bumping him gently on the elbow.

"Good luck, mate," Ron said.

Harry squared his jaw. "Thanks. Think I'll need it."

"Remember to dodge and block and stuff – and aim for weak spots. Eyes are a good bet. And remember unforgiveable curses are illegal."

This advice resounded in Harry's mind as he headed through the cold darkness of the dungeons. He wondered if he and Severus really would kill each other. Things would be so much easier, if they did. His heart sank though, realising that if a fight broke out, Draco would not be begging them to stop. He would not be crying for both of them, running between them. He would probably only protect Severus. Nearly six months now, and it had come to this. Harry's heart was burning itself alive in its anguish.

He reached the door of Severus's office at a minute past eight, and knocked.

"Enter," came Severus's voice from inside, in tones that could have carved themselves into granite. Harry let himself in.

Silently, eyes lowered, he moved to a desk and put down his bag. He took off his cloak and pulled it over the back of his chair. As he took out parchment and quill, he pretended not to notice Severus move to the door, lock it and cast a variety of spells around the handle. Severus was not in teacher's robes. He was in a tunic and waistcoat, jet-black. He'd dressed for a long and unpleasant night.

Harry kicked his bag under the desk, settled back and, as Severus approached his desk, he asked,

"What am I writing, sir?"

Severus laid his hands on the desk, idly, leaning without hesitation into Harry's personal space.

"How about," the older man seethed, " '_I'm a miserable, pathetic little wanker with no concept of other people, no balls and no idea how much pain I inflict on the people who care for me?_ "

Harry's quill snapped in his hand. He threw it away, furious already, but before he could reach for another, Severus had grabbed him by the front of his school robes and hauled him up out of his seat. They came eye-to-eye, nose-to-nose. Harry began to panic as soon as he looked into Severus's eyes.

"I – I – "

"_You_," Severus breathed, "came closer to death today than you will _ever_ know."

"P-Put me down. Put me down or I start screaming."

"Oh, you can scream all you like. You can scream yourself _hoarse_. You can scream bloody murder until there's no breath left in your lungs, and you can keep screaming, and not a soul in this castle will hear you." Severus's eyes gleamed. "Just me. And by my reckoning, Potter, we have..."

He checked his watch.

"... twelve hours until you're next due to be seen by another living soul. That equates to a tremendous amount of screaming. If it takes that long for you to _stop_ screaming, and to explain to me _precisely why you have spent most of the past week behaving like juvenile toss-pot of the century, _then so be it."

Severus leant even closer, until they were sharing breath. Harry had never been quite so scared in his life. Voldemort had nothing on Severus.

"Though I suggest you start explaining quickly," Severus hissed, "because I have limited patience. You've tested it once today. Nothing on Earth has tested me twice in a twenty-four hour period and survived, and _you_ will not become the first."

Harry was struggling to listen and stay conscious at the same time. He realised his fingers were digging into Severus's forearms, vicelike in his panic, and that Severus couldn't care less.

"_Explain_," the professor murmured.

Harry swallowed. He reached for his pocket, extracting the brown letter that had ruined everything. He pushed it without a word into Severus's hands.

"A third letter?" Severus said; Harry nodded numbly. The black eyes flashed. "And you decided to keep this to your darling little self, did you?"

"I – I came to tell you – "

Severus dropped Harry back into his seat. The professor whirled away, tearing open the letter and unfolding it quickly, reading as Harry babbled.

" – but I – I arrived, and I just looked through, and you were – "

Severus cut across him. "This letter arrived soon after the second, did it?"

"Y-Yes – but I looked through, and I saw – "

"It provides some clarity, at last. I suppose we can only be grateful." Severus took the letter to his desk, spreading it flat and searching through his top drawer. "Our situation has just become exponentially worse. The fact you have concealed this for a week is irresponsible beyond measure, and you have caused untold damage by doing so. We are not dealing with a blackmailer."

"We – we aren't?"

"No. Far worse." Severus removed a small bottle from his desk, uncorking it. "It is a stalker."

"A – a s-stalker?"

"Their goal is not simple money. A demand would have been made long before now, if it were. The second letter made me suspicious, and this third confirms it. Someone is obsessed with you and wishes to have you."

Severus squeezed three drops of the liquid onto the paper, watching it closely for a reaction.

"Who, to your knowledge, bears some or any degree of romantic attraction to you?"

"N-No one. Nobody I know of."

"Has anyone made a pointed or noticeable attempt to seek out your company in recent times?"

"No. I've not noticed."

"Has anything worthy of suspicion happened to you, or happened to people near you, aside from the delivery of these letters?"

"No – " Harry watched as a plume of purple smoke rose from the letter, and Severus waved it angrily away. "Nothing's changed. I – I can't have a stalker – I'd have noticed by now."

"Clearly not," Severus spat. He drew his wand and muttered a charm, pointing it at the letter. Nothing happened. "No magical signature. Still." He glared at the note, his brow furrowing, his shoulders rigid. "There must be some clue somewhere. They must have made a mistake at some point."

"But – but if it's just a stalker – then aren't things better? They won't go to the press – they won't ask for money – "

Severus glared across the classroom. "When you are dead," he whispered, "or when Draco is, or when I am, how much _better_ will you consider the situation?"

"This is ridiculous." Harry swallowed around the dryness in his throat, his chest still heaving with anxiety. "I've not got a stalker – I'd have _noticed _someone stalking me. They'd have done more than just send weird letters."

"These will turn threatening very shortly." Severus folded the letter away, sliding it into his desk drawer with a snap. "When they do, you will inform me _at once_. Do you understand? Regardless of the state of our personal affairs, regardless of _whatever situation is taking place_. The moment these letters take a threatening tone, our situation becomes dire. Life-threatening. I will need you both removed from Hogwarts to a place of safety, and the Ministry may need to be informed. Public humiliation and the loss of job prospects are a small price to pay for your lives."

_Life-threatening. _Harry's head spun. "How – how do you know it's even a stalker at all?"

"The pattern is classic, particularly in the third message. The writer is attempting to inspire paranoia in you, to force you away from actual or perceived lovers, and to acquire you for themselves. The tone they have taken is insinuating and personal. The structuring around questions. It is textbook."

Harry felt his heart beating a little harder. Someone was trying to inspire paranoia in him, and it had worked like a charm. All the same – what if his stalker was right? It wasn't beyond the realms of possibility.

"I – when I read it, I – "

Severus looked up from his desk, eyes dark. Harry gripped the seat of his chair to try and quell his anxiety.

"Look, I need to talk to you," he blurted out. "I need a proper answer. I need – I need _honesty_ because if this _is_ a stalker, then I need to know where _everybody _stands. And I just don't right now."

Severus frowned. "What the devil are you talking about?"

Harry closed his eyes. It was so much easier, not having to look at Severus.

"The questions – in the letter – " All over again, he was standing in the door of Severus's rooms watching them fuck without him, hearing the first _I love you_ and it wasn't even for his ears. His courage flared. "I need to know – "

Severus was silent.

"Is it true?" Harry asked the silence. "The letter?"

"Of course it's true." Severus's reply was waspish and blunt. "As you're well aware. I've had to ease Draco's cravings several times while he is on heat or season. Aside from that, he and I are intimate without you. Just as you and I have been intimate without Draco present. As yourself and Draco have. And I would not be involved with either of you, six months on, if I didn't hold some degree of regard for the pair of you. I would not currently be risking my job and my _life_ in the face of a stalker, if I had no regard."

"That's _regard_. Not – not love. That's not what I'm asking. I know you've got _regard_ for us. People who send me junk mail have _regard_ for me."

"Then what _are_ you asking?"

"I – I asked if it's true that you _love_ him. That you love each other."

Harry opened his eyes. Severus was watching him from across the room, guarded and suspicious and unimpressed.

"Why is the issue in doubt?" Severus asked.

"So you do," Harry said. He felt his heart caving in. "You do love each other."

Severus said nothing for quite some time, then came out from behind his desk. He moved back to where Harry still sat rigid in his seat.

He leant down, staring into Harry's eyes. Harry looked away.

"Look at me," Severus said, and when Harry didn't comply, he caught Harry's jaw and forced his head back round. Their foreheads pressed together. Severus stared into Harry, straight into him, and Harry had never felt so penetrated. Surely Severus could see his every secret, every fear he held and every lie he'd ever told. He swallowed against the terror.

"What exactly are you accusing me of?" Severus said, quietly.

Harry closed his eyes. He could still feel Severus's breath on his face.

"I saw you," he said. "I saw you together – I – I came on Friday just after dinner. I was going to show you the new letter. But – but you were together without me and you didn't even know I was there. You didn't have a clue. Then I – I heard – "

"For the love of God," Severus muttered.

Harry's eyes opened. "What?"

"It comes as some kind of shock to you that I have sex with Draco Malfoy?" Severus was staring at him, utterly perplexed. "This is your terrible dilemma? Do you have any idea how long Draco has spent crying this week, telling me you hate him?"

"You said you loved him," Harry said. He searched Severus's face. "You – you said it. You said the words. You've _never_ said the words to me. To us both, when we're there."

"Does it mean I don't feel it?" Severus said.

Harry fell silent.

"So this is your explanation," the professor continued. Anger was stirring in his eyes. "You receive a letter from someone outside the relationship, someone knowing nothing of the inner workings of our arrangement, someone who quite clearly bears you ill will. You keep it to yourself. You brood over it. You believe a blackmailer ahead of your lovers, to the point where you do not seek their opinion or their reaction. In this state, you come across something that would otherwise be perfectly normal and even appealing to you, and you take it as a betrayal. You make the incorrect assumption that, because I do not tell you, because I think you are _secure enough_ not to need it, I do not feel for you what I feel for Draco. Ignoring _all_ evidence to the contrary. Ignoring Draco's feelings and opinions. Ignoring _everything_ we have shared over half a year."

His upper lip curled.

"Then you hide in your room for the best part of a week," he sneered. "Feeling so sorry for yourself. Poor Potter. Poor ignored Potter. Poor pitiful Potter who can't possibly read some of the owls his frantic lovers send twenty times a day."

"It – it wasn't like that – " Harry managed, knowing it was.

Contempt dripped from Severus's voice. "So, your answer is yes, Potter. Draco and I do love each other, to the same degree that I assumed you and Draco love each other. To the same degree that you and _I _loved each other."

Harry's heart stammered to a halt in its frantic beating. "I – l-loved?"

"You have damaged things this week," Severus whispered. "Irreparably. I'm appalled at you. If we are to have any hope of surviving this stalker, we need two things and they are _trust_ and love. In this moment I'm not convinced you have either. For myself or for Draco."

Heat seared in Harry's eyes. "S-Severus – please – "

"Stop your whimpering," Severus said. "I don't wish to hear anymore."

He let Harry go. Harry slumped back in his chair, shaking, his eyes burning.

"Here are rules," the professor said, sweeping away to his desk and not looking at Harry. "You will not contact or visit either Draco or myself, in any capacity outside of the classroom, unless I instigate it. You will keep watch for _anything_ suspicious, bearing in mind that if we do not find this person in time, lives could be risked. If Draco or I go missing for any length of time, you are to go to Albus Dumbledore at once and tell him everything."

Harry blanched. "Everything – but I – "

"_Everything_, Potter. The pheromones, the threesomes, the letters. _Everything_."

"O-Okay." Harry reached up, rubbing his eyes hard with the heels of his hands. He wanted to erase time and go back, back to the start when nobody knew and they were safe. "Look, I'm s-sorry for – "

"'Sorry' changes nothing," Severus said. His tone of voice ended the conversation. "Get your quill. Three-hundred lines: _I will acknowledge, respect and submit to the authority of my superiors without condition._"

"You – you're making me write _lines_?"

Severus turned around from the blackboard, where he was jotting Harry's line to be repeated.

"When you act like a man," the professor said, "I will treat you like a man. Until then, you are a boy and if you challenge me, I will make you suffer. Is that clear?"

Harry hung his head. "Where's Dray?" he whispered.

"Crying," Severus spat. "As usual. Writing you letters you won't read. Later on he'll be here, sitting on my sofa, telling me you don't love him anymore."

"I – I want to see him – "

"Then you'll be vigilant in searching for the person who wishes him harm." Severus etched in the last of the line, dropping the chalk and dusting his hands. "Who wishes me harm. All of us harm."

"Severus, I never meant to – "

"Start writing. _Now_."

Severus's voice shook.

"And do not speak to me again until you've learnt yourself some fucking gratitude."


	11. Two Rabbits

*****

**Triquetra**

_**By Mottlemoth**_

*****

**Chapter Eleven – Two Rabbits**

It was past eleven when Harry stumbled through the portrait hole, feeling like he wanted to drown himself. His hands ached and his heart laid in pieces. Severus had returned the essay to him as he left – he'd gotten full marks. It was only the third time Severus had given full marks in almost two decades of teaching, but for some reason, it meant nothing to Harry tonight.

The common room was empty, except for a familiar figure huddled over her books with a candle. Harry had never been so glad to see Hermione. The sight of her mumsy knitwear and her bushy curls made him want to cry.

"Mione?" he said, and she looked up.

"There you are!" she said, pushing her book away. Her face was tight with concern. "Are you okay? What did Snape make you do?"

"Lines," Harry managed, staggering over. He collapsed onto the sofa opposite as Hermione blinked.

"Lines?" she said. "Is that it? He was... he was _really _mad, Harry. I thought he'd start cursing. The class was just _horrible_, none of us dared speak or move - even Draco Malfoy was white as a sheet. Everyone ran for the door when the bell went. I've never seen people leave a classroom so fast."

"Yeah. Yeah, I bet."

"How many lines did he make you do?"

"Three hundred. It felt like three thousand."

Hermione's eyes slid to the clock above the fireplace. "Three hundred lines in three hours?" she said. "That's very generous for Snape... I think you were lucky, Harry."

"There was a lot of yelling before we got onto the lines." Harry frowned. "He had a lot to say."

"Ah."

Harry shifted uncomfortably, taking off his cloak. He didn't think he'd be sleeping much tonight. There was too much in his head, and none of it was the sort of stuff to send him off to a peaceful and contented rest.

"What sort of things was he saying?" Hermione asked, carefully.

"He... well, lots of stuff. Usual Snapey things. Inadequate this. Unacceptable that. More respect for superiors and so forth."

He realised his hands were shaking, and pulled them inside the sleeves of his jumper to disguise it.

"It's been a really long night, actually." He knew he needed to stop talking. He heard his voice break and knew he should stop, knew it was his warning sign and it needed to be heeded. He was so tired, though. So tired. "Things – things won't be getting easier for ages, either – and it's just..."

He put his hands to his face. _You and I loved each other. I'm appalled at you. Sorry changes nothing. Look at me. _

"Everything's gone wrong – " he bit out, as his shoulders began to shake. "And I can't even tell anyone – "

He heard Hermione get up from her couch. Next moment, she was sitting next to him and her arms went tight about his shoulders, and she smelt like a mother. He couldn't describe it. She had the same instinctive softness as Mrs Weasley, and it was something he'd never had for any length of time. Harry hugged her tight, shaking, wishing Hermione had been his sister. He almost wished he could _be_ Hermione. She wouldn't get herself into ridiculous situations like this. She was so grounded, so in control. Even now, she was patting his back with a small sigh, and he loved her so much for it.

"Harry... I think you'd better tell me. This has gone on long enough."

"It – I – "

"Please don't tell me there's nothing going on," she said. "I'm not an idiot... the rest of our friends might be, but I'm not. You've been upset for weeks."

Harry struggled with himself. Severus would kill him if he told someone – as if Severus needed anymore excuse to hate him at the moment. But she was _Hermione._ She'd been at his side through everything, spotting things he never could, making links that were just beyond his comprehension. Hermione just had an instinct for people, too. Maybe she'd know something. Maybe she'd seen someone watching him just a little too long, sneaking into the boy's dormitory when nobody was looking. He needed her. Too long, he'd cooped this up to himself – he needed his friends.

She let him go, studying him gently. She tried a smile.

"I promise I won't tell Ron," she offered. "Is it... is it your Hogsmeade girls?"

Harry took a deep breath, staring down at his hands. "They're – they're not in Hogsmeade. Mione, you can't tell anyone this. Nothing. Please, please promise me."

"I promise, Harry – you know I won't." She gripped his hands. "Are they at Hogwarts?"

He nodded, mute. He couldn't say it. He couldn't.

"Are they... are they in Gryffindor, Harry?"

He shook his head.

"Hufflepuff? Ravenclaw?" When he didn't react at all, she paused before the final option. "Slytherin?"

Harry looked up at her, anxiously. Her face crumpled.

"Oh Harry. Please tell me it's not Pansy Parkinson."

He scowled. "No, it's not Pansy Parkinson. It's – it's not – " _Girls. _He couldn't say it. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "A-A lot of people have – have assumed a lot of stuff that's maybe not true – or not _totally_ true – "

"Is it guys?" she said, and the indifference in her voice startled him. A little panic rose in his chest.

"Is it obvious?"

"No," she lied, quickly.

Harry shrank away. "It's obvious. You knew. How did you know?"

"Oh, please. I've seen the panic in your eyes when Dean and Seamus leap on you with another poster of some naked bint on a broomstick." She rolled her eyes. "It's not _obvious_, Harry. It's a faint assumption I made that you've just confirmed for me. So it's guys..."

She thought.

"Are they Quidditch players?" she suggested. "You seem like you'd prefer the straight-acting type."

Harry's face creased with discomfort. "I... I didn't want to turn it into a guessing game." He shifted; maybe this hadn't been such a fabulous idea. Hermione's knowledge of gay culture was, frankly, a little scary. "Look, it doesn't matter _who_ it is – "

"If it doesn't matter, then just tell me, Harry. I don't care who it is. You know you can trust me." She smiled. "So long as it's not... not _Snape and Malfoy_ or something, you've got nothing to worry about!"

Harry's face fell. She realised a little too late.

"Oh – " She covered her mouth. "Oh my _God_ - "

Harry readied himself to attack her if she started screaming. He'd smother her with a pillow. Murder of his best friend would be a small price to pay for keeping this quiet.

"Harry – " She lowered her voice. "_Snape and Malfoy?_"

"I – I don't know how it happened. Please. Please don't tell people." Harry swallowed, desperate, now clinging to her hands. "I'm not proud."

"But how – _how_ did – "

"It was Draco at first. We... we started in September. Then – it's a really long, dumb story – Severus got involved a month later. Since then we've – we've – "

"Oh my _God_, Harry. Since September. That's... that's five months. Six months."

Harry covered his face. "I know it's bad."

"Harry, this is _huge_." She hesitated. "Is it... still going on?"

"I don't know." Harry's heart clenched – he so wished he could give a solid 'yes' to that, but he couldn't. He couldn't even give a sad but definite 'no'. "I just don't know... it's – it's really stupid. You won't believe me. There's more."

"There's _more_?"

"We're being – being blackmailed." He couldn't bring himself to say 'stalked', and being blackmailed sounded ridiculous enough. He was realising how ludicrous this situation had become. "Someone's found out. We don't know who but I've been getting these horrible letters, and – "

"Oh! The _letter!_" Hermione's face opened with realisation. "I saw you get one, didn't I? That day at breakfast – I _knew_ something had messed you up! You've not been right since then!"

"That was the first. I've had two more and they're getting worse. Do you... believe me?"

She looked at him for a moment, despairing.

"You wouldn't make this up," she said, more to herself than him. He shook his head. "Then... oh, Harry. Of course I believe you. I think you're completely crazy but I believe you."

He grabbed her hands.

"Then I need your help," he said. Desperation strained his voice. "Really, really badly. It's... Severus thinks this person is a stalker. They want... want me to split up with Severus and Draco, so they can have me. We need to find out who it is before they get nasty. Before people get hurt."

She hesitated. Harry waited, but nothing came.

"What is it?" he asked.

She looked away for a moment, carefully, then back at him. "Harry, this... this is going to sound strange."

"Like the whole situation is normal?"

"Eh, point taken. But..." She sighed. "If this person wants you to stop seeing Severus and Draco..."

Harry took a slow breath. "I would, it's just... it's really complicated. There's things I can't tell you. But it's not just sex. We've got... got a relationship together and we're happy. I know it's crazy but..."

She said nothing, just looking at him. Her eyes were pained. He wished he could explain to her.

"I didn't... get a lot of love as a child," he said. "Now I've got – look, I know it's mad. I don't know how this has happened, but I can't get out of it."

"Is there a future in it?" she asked, nervously.

Harry wet his lips. "I think so. Severus doesn't but I do. And Draco does."

"Are you sure you think so? I mean... your future career, Harry. The papers. If you want a family or a joint bank account. _Voldemort_. It's _Draco Malfoy._"

Harry had barely thought about Voldemort all year. It had been the best year of his life, until the letter. He looked down at their enjoined hands.

"We're happy," he managed. It was all he could think. In the back of his mind, he could still see a little cottage near Hogsmeade and a king-sized bed big enough for three and a little dog. "I've not – not really been happy before. Not like this. Besides, Draco's not a Death Eater, and Severus is Dumbledore's spy. They're good people. I know it's stupid and I know it makes no sense, but they – they're great. I like being with them. Nobody knows what it's like. Nobody sees us together and they'd think it's just _sex_, like we're just risking everything for cheap sex but it's... it's more. It's _huge_, you're right."

He looked up at her. He knew his eyes were shining, but his dreams were so far away right now, he couldn't help it.

"We wanted to keep it a secret," he said. "As long as we could. And just be happy. It's... it's nobody's business, but ours."

"Oh Harry." She sighed, troubled. "Harry, I don't know what to tell you." She paused. "If you chase two rabbits, you'll lose them both."

"I'm not chasing them," he said. He struggled for a moment. "At least... I don't think I am. I think we're all just chasing each other. We're three rabbits happy in the warren."

He looked away.

"We _were_."

She squeezed his hands again. "What do you need my help with?" she asked.

"Mione – do you mean it?"

"I do. I'll try and help. I don't know what I can do, Harry, but I'll try."

"Okay... um, first. Don't tell Ron."

She nodded. "Easily done. It's for his own good, by far."

"Or anyone else."

"Fine. My lips are sealed."

"Second – I need to find out who's sending the letters. Severus thinks it's someone that wants me for themselves. So – so if you hear anything – "

"I'll see what I can find out. If... would it be okay if I asked Ginny? I won't mention the secret things," she added, seeing the horror-stricken look on his face. "I'll just ask if she knows anyone interested in you. I doubt it's any of the girls in our year."

"Alright... so long as you don't tell her _anything_."

She frowned. "I don't think Ginny's stalking you, Harry."

"I know, but... I can't trust anyone right now. I'm worried it's someone close to me."

"I guess it's best to be suspicious. The sooner you catch this person, the better." She paused, watching him. "What did Severus say to you tonight?"

It was strange hearing her call him that. Harry decided he sort of liked it. _Severus_, like this was one of Harry's boyfriends, not their professor. His heart stirred, and he tried to quieten it.

"He... he wasn't happy. The last letter was written to make me paranoid, and it kind of worked. It's another stupid story. I've just messed up bad and he doesn't want to see me."

She bit her lip. "It might be best for a while," she said. "If you're being stalked."

He sighed. "I know. I know you're right. I just... want to see him. I want to see them both."

"I know, Harry." She tried a smile, appraising him the way Mrs Weasley did sometimes. She shifted forwards and gathered him back into a hug. "I'll help you as much as I can," she promised in his ear. "It'll be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end."

Harry closed his eyes. She was brilliant, really.

"Thank you Mione," he mumbled, letting her squeeze him.

"You're welcome. Keep me updated with everything that's going on?"

"I will." He paused. Something Severus had said came back to him, and as much as it frightened him, he had a horrible feeling it would be needed. "Mione, if I ever go missing for more than a day and nobody knows where I am – check with Severus and Draco, then go and tell Dumbledore. It might be really important."

"Harry – " She sounded scared. "Do you think that's necessary?"

"We don't know. Severus thinks things might get that serious. And unfortunately, he's usually right about bloody everything."

*

Four AM came and went. Harry and Hermione had parted company some hours ago now, but it didn't mean Harry was any closer to sleep. He sat awake all night, reading and trying to study, watching the stars move across the sky and wishing he could be amongst them. Stars were so solid, so fixed. Nothing troubled the stars.

It was now shortly before dawn. Harry sat inking a set of twined initials in the back of his old notebook – H, S and D. The curve of Severus's S suggested a stalk to him, and so he added leaves. He inked in a few vines, a flower or two, an owl perched atop the D. Soon, he had doodled his own little forest and the initials were hidden amongst the trees, safe.

A flutter at the window caught his attention, pulling him away from his drawing. He glanced around.

The raven on the window ledge blinked, rapped the glass with its beak, and held out its leg.

Harry hurried to let the raven in as silently as he could. The moment the sleek black bird had settled atop Hedwig's cage, he eased free the scroll and sat back on his bed to unroll it, listening to Seamus snoring nearby. Half-eager, half-afraid, he scanned the tight black line of text.

_I forgot to tell you something of vital importance. I fear it will mean nothing now. Was harsh with you; unsure if you deserved quite all of it. You did deserve some. Respond if awake._

Harry grabbed a quill from the side, his heart hammering and his eyes hot as he scratched back:

_I'm sorry I've wrecked everything_

_I just got scared – I didn't mean to hurt you or Dray – I know I deserved a lot of it but I'm really sorry. I just don't want to lose you both. I'm too happy for that._

_What did you forget to tell me?_

He reattached the scroll, running his fingers over the raven's proud head. It swooped away out of the window. Harry sat down to wait, cross-legged, watching the sky with a very tight feeling in his stomach.

When the raven reappeared, he almost hauled it in through the window. The scroll was off its leg before the bird had even landed.

Beneath Harry's response was written:

_I understand fear. Though I don't understand your idiocy._

_Flowery declarations not my style – you should know this by now. Must I say it? _

Harry tried to slow the pounding of his heart, sure it would wake up his dorm-mates. He replied in a rush.

_I don't need flowery – but I'd like honesty – if you really feel it._

He was on his tiptoes by the window as the raven approached the tower for the third time. It seemed to take a long time to come. The lengthy response made his heart skip.

_In honesty; have many things I wish to say to you. A lot of regard to express for you. You mention love so infrequently and I took this to mean you need no verbal reassurance – not as consistently as Draco, at least. Perhaps was in error. Would never want you to doubt my absolute fondness for you. My attachment to you. I feel strongly for you. Whatever you heard me tell Draco; it is also for you, and if circumstances allowed, would be impressing this to you very strongly right now. Bed is cold and empty without either of you here. You are in my thoughts. Have no fear._

Harry knew before he'd finished reading that he would keep this letter as long as he lived. He would find it in a drawer somewhere when he was eighty, sit down and read it, and he knew he'd probably feel the same desperate rush of love and excitement, the same certainty that things would be okay.

He stared at the parchment for five minutes, hesitating on what to say – how he could ever respond. In the end, he scratched back,

_Please let me come and see you_

The raven returned quickly, bringing him in a steady hand,

_I doubt that would be wise. The rules still stand – you must stay away. Letters are all I will risk, and you must not test me on this. Please listen to me for once in your life._

Harry found a lump in his throat as he wrote back, feeling hot and angry. He wanted to be in the dungeons more than anything he'd ever wanted. He wanted to be in Severus's bed, feeling and forgetting, with the two people he loved.

_How long do I have to stay away? How long between letters until we know it's safe?_

The reply made nothing better.

_May be indefinitely. This may be the end. Things may never change. Have warned you on several occasions – we have no happy ending to hope for. Emotions and attachment will protect us from nothing. Am imparting them to you for your own records only. You can enjoy knowing, but it changes nothing. In short; I love you but we cannot be. Our affair has to be over._

_You're wrong,_ Harry wrote. Heat spilt down his cheeks. He wasn't being dumped; this wasn't happening. _You're wrong and I love you. We'll make it through. We just have to love each other._

_You will be fighting a lost cause,_ came the reply. _I'm no longer willing to risk my career, my reputation, my life on the remote fairytale chance of prolonging six months of threesome sex with two pupils. What point is there? Do you seriously think we are fated? That we would spend our lives together? I warned you. Inform me if further letters come, and I will support you until the letters stop – then we part ways with our memories and our futures intact. Draco also knows of my decision._

There was a gap, and then a final paragraph. The handwriting shook.

_Have enjoyed our time together. Among happiest times of life, in life largely void of happy times. Regret. Shall think of you often. Wish some other option were available - none are. Will always hold regard for you. Will never forget. S. x_

Harry found a new piece of paper. He dried his face on his sleeve, not wanting to send Draco a letter clearly blotched with tears.

_Dear Dray_, he wrote_. I love you. Do you still love me?_

He gave it to the raven.

"To Draco," he whispered, his voice strained in the darkness. He thought he heard movement from one of the beds but found his dorm-mates still asleep. The raven took off into the night.

Its silhouette, as it returned, seemed different somehow. It was carrying something. Harry waited by the window, watching as it came closer and finally fluttered through into the room, dropping its package onto his bed.

It was a single rose, white as snow and tied with a note. Harry's heart expanded in his chest as he carefully peeled off the note, unrolling it and reading in desperation.

_I'm yours. Always have been yours. I don't care if have to live as hermit on deserted island somewhere – always will be yours._

_The question is, Do we fight for our Severus?_

Harry sat on his bed, holding the rose's stem between his fingers. He thought of living on a deserted island somewhere for the rest of his days, catching rabbits and making palm tree shelters, and he thought of lying on tropical grass at night looking up at the stars, nestled between the two other thirds of his life.

Little in his life was his own, he realised in a single moment. The wizarding world loved him only so far as they were counting on him to pull some amazing magic trick, and defeat Voldemort, and save them all because it was what he'd been born to do. His aunt and uncle, effectively his adoptive parents, had blurred the boundaries of child abuse for most of his life. His real parents were dead. He had no godfather. He thought of Ron, and the Weasley bank account sitting empty when their house was so full of warmth and love beyond anything a child could dream of. What was the point of a life full of everything but love? _Anything_ but love?

He looked down at the single white rose from his boyfriend.

_His boyfriend_. He had a boyfriend – he had two boyfriends, two people who loved him. The last time two people loved him, Voldemort had killed them. The world took them away from him.

Now here he was, all grown up, and some stalker in the night thought they had the right to tell him to stay away.

He scribbled back, his eyes burning with defiant tears.

_He needs us to fight for him. We're his only chance of happiness and I'm not letting him give up. He's scared. I'm not._

The reply came.

_Then, my lion, we fight. We need to find the stalker and I think I have a plan. You may not like it. Unfortunately it is a very good plan, and you trust me and love me, so my plan will be fine. Meet me at the pitch tonight at eleven and I'll explain. Don't be seen._


	12. Scandal the First

*****

**Triquetra**

_**By Mottlemoth**_

*****

**Chapter Twelve – Scandal the First**

Next morning, Harry was shaken roughly awake.

"Harry!" he heard, unsure if he was still dreaming or not. Reality began to focus. "_Harry!_"

Eyes screwed up with sleep, brain barely functioning, Harry squinted up at the hazy figure of Ron Weasley leaning over his bed.

"Wizzit?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Wassappened? Is there a fire?"

"You won't _believe_ the news – someone from Ravenclaw ran all the way up Gryffindor Tower to tell us. Oh God, Harry. It's – it's _huge_. It's gobsmacking. And I _knew _it. I knew it all along! _Ha!_"

Harry stared. "What _is_ it?" He glanced across at his alarm clock, startled to find it was barely eight. "Ron, it's early – I'm really tired..."

"Oh no, you're awake. You'll be awake for _this_."

Ron looked half-demented. There was a fervour in his eyes that Harry had rarely seen before - one of his eyes was significantly wider than the other, and twitching. The full effect was rather scary.

"What is it?" Harry said again, shrinking back slightly.

Ron's eyes glinted with sheer, devilish delight. He leant closer.

"_Draco Malfoy's_ _gay!!_" he breathed.

The night before returned with full clarity at last. Harry sat bolt upright in bed, his covers flopping down.

"_What?_" he demanded.

"_I know!!_" Ron half-howled – he looked as if he were about to fling his head back and cackle. "He's _gay_! And it's _not even a rumour_! He actually _came out!_ He told a load of Slytherins this morning in their common room – it was Pansy Parkinson who told Ravenclaw and she heard it _herself_, straight from Malfoy's mouth!! Isn't it brilliant!?_ Didn't you just see that coming a mile off!?_"

"That's – that_'s crazy! _He actually came out? He – he _told_ people?"

"_I know!!_"

"What exactly did he tell people?"

"Pansy Parkinson told Ravenclaw, and they told us, that he just kind of _announced_ it – he said he wanted to get it of his chest. Then he just came out with it!"

Ron was actually trembling with excitement.

"_This is the best day I've had in ages!!_" he cried. "Just _wait_ until breakfast! I bet he won't come, though – I bet he won't – he won't _dare – _he knows the whole school has gone _mad_ for this!"

He grabbed Harry's arm, yanking him out of bed.

"Come on! Get up, get dressed! I've been waiting for this day six years!" He clapped a hand to his forehead. "_God!_ I've got to write to Fred and George!"

*

By the time they got to breakfast, eight more people had jumped on Harry wanting to know if he'd heard the news. Each time, Ron puffed out his chest and announced, "He knows! He knows already, you're too late! _I _told him this morning – did you see it coming? I saw it coming! I saw it coming s_ix years ago_!"

Ron was still yabbering as they filed down to breakfast.

"I bet he's not there," he announced to the people gathered around them. "He'll have chickened out. I bet you anything. Some people have been waiting six years for this, so there's no way he'll be there. I know _I've_ been waiting."

Hermione appeared on Harry's other side, her arms full of the day's books. Beneath the noise of Ron's crowing, she asked,

"Did you know?"

"Um... I kind of knew he was gay, yeah." Harry stared at her. "When we talked, did you get the wrong end of the stick completely?"

She rolled her eyes. "I don't mean did you know he was _gay!_" she said, exasperated. "I mean, did you know he was going to _come out_?"

"Oh – well, I – "

They passed through the archway into the Great Hall, where the sight of great crowds of people around the Slytherin table put an end to their conversation. In the middle of it all sat Draco, like a flowering shrub surrounded by butterflies, with a serene little smile on his face. He seemed to be revelling in the attention. Every now and then, someone new would cut through the crowd and demand of him if it was true, to which he would give a little sigh, nod, and confess in luxurious tones, "Yes, it's true..." The inquirer would then sprint away in great excitement, to confirm the news to their eagerly waiting friends on the outskirts.

Harry and the other Gryffindors sat down, pouring cereal and handing round the jam pot, watching the pantomime at the Slytherin table. Ron had observed the goings-on for several minutes when at last he leant over to Harry, looking tense and excited.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go ask if it's true."

Harry swallowed his mouthful of coffee, frowning. "I think it's true, Ron. You've watched him tell people for five minutes it's true."

"I won't believe it 'til I've heard it for myself." He dragged Harry up by the arm. "Come on. Malfoy's taken the piss out of my family for years – it's _payback time_."

Harry shot a silent 'help me' look in the direction of Hermione, who could only stare back, helpless to act and her eyes full of sympathy. Ron was already marching Harry across the hall, pushing him into the fray around the Slytherin table. They were bustled towards the front.

At the sight of Harry, famed nemesis of Draco Malfoy, the crowd drew back to watch and whisper eagerly to one another, apparently hoping for some kind of confrontation. Harry and Ron were finally spat out at the fore of the commotion, and there came a hush.

Draco lifted his eyes from his croissant, and flicked a speck off the cuff of his silk shirt.

"Hello Potter," he drawled. "Hello Weasley. Can I help? Not lost your breakfast table, have you? It's over there under the huge Gryffindor banner. I suppose it's an easy mistake to make for idiots."

Ron made a noise like a scoff and a tut in one. Harry stood at his side, feeling like idiot of the year, and very aware of the teachers keeping a close-eye on the encounter from the high table.

Ron folded his arms across his chest, rallying his courage despite the rising colour in his cheeks.

"_No,_ actually. We came to ask if it's true about you being – "

" – a raging, cock-chasing woofter? I'm afraid so, Weasley. It is true."

"Oh," Ron said. "Right."

His blush reached his hairline.

"Well, um. Congratulations," he mumbled.

Draco's smile spread slowly across his lips; he dropped Ron a wink. "Aren't you sweet to ask," he burred.

Never before had Harry seen the colour drain so quickly from his best friend's face. Ron grunted something about "You're welcome," then something else about his breakfast, glared at everyone, turned on his heel and almost ran back to the Gryffindor table. Harry watched him go, trying not to laugh.

"Something you wanted, Potter?" Draco asked, lazily. Harry looked back at the Slytherin. There was a gleam in Draco's eye that went straight to Harry's cock, and for a moment, Harry was in trouble of coming out himself in a very public demonstration of just how gay he was.

"When did you realise you were queer, then?" he asked, casually, burying his hands in his pockets.

Draco's smile curved. "When did you realise you were straight?"

"Probably when I didn't shag any blokes."

"Well, then. I think that's your answer, Potter." Draco stretched, flexing his ankles in what looked like new velvet trousers. "Tell Granger I was only teasing her Weasley," he drawled, "and not to worry. Tactless ginger twats with bog-eyes aren't my type."

The teachers had finally become nervous enough to break up the gathering. Professor McGonagall waded her way through the assembled crowd.

"I very much doubt," she said, loudly, "that you are_ all_ in Slytherin House! Shoo, shoo – back to your own house tables! Mr Potter, you for one are _definitely_ not a Slytherin – move along, please! All of you, dissipate at once!"

A second teacher swept his way to the front of the crowd, black robes billowing. The few people not intimidated by Professor McGonagall were most definitely scared of Snape, and vanished almost at once, hurrying away to their own tables. Snape came to stand in front of Harry and Draco, glaring between them.

"Is there a problem, Potter?" he said. He was looking at Harry very strangely; Harry resisted the urge to cry or punch him in the gut. "This is not your house table... thank the founders. Do be on your way."

"I was just going, sir."

"Not nearly fast enough. Mr Malfoy, a word with you outside if I may."

Draco raised an eyebrow, idling his fingertips through the loose pastry flakes on his plate. "Is it urgent, professor? I've yet to finish my breakfast."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "My office," he said. "Now." He glared at Harry. "On your way, Potter."

"Yes, sir," Harry murmured as he passed Snape, brushing the professor's side and returning to the Gryffindor table without a backwards glance.

He sat down, pulled a plate of toast towards himself, and six or seven people leant over the table to ask if it was true.

*

Harry waited until nine to leave the common room. Under the pretence of wanting to fly, he told his friends not to wait up and made his way down to the Quidditch pitch, light-footed and hearted. As he passed the opening that led beneath the stands, a hand shot out and pulled him inside, bundling him into the dark. Before he could think he was pushed back against the wooden wall and kissed hard.

Draco's hands buried beneath his robes, roaming across his chest, little noises coming from the back of the blonde's throat. He tightened his arms around Draco, kissing him back.

When they parted, Draco was grinning from ear-to-ear.

"You were so funny today," the blonde murmured, eyes shining, stroking Harry's chest through his t-shirt. "I think I terrified your funny friend, though."

"Ron? He's been hiding in the dormitory most of the day. He's traumatised. He probably thinks you're going to hunt him down."

Draco laughed, drawing his lips along Harry's jaw. "No, he can sleep easily... I've made my choices, and _neither_ of them are Weasleys."

"I didn't realise you were going to do it today – I thought you'd wait until next week, at least."

"Why draw it out? The sooner we start the plan, the sooner we catch our stalker." Draco smiled, rubbing Harry's collar between his fingertips. "It's... it's strangely liberating, you know. I know it's all part of a wider and more serious scheme, but I'm really quite glad."

"Have you written to your parents?"

"I'm drafting a letter to Mother... it's difficult knowing how to phrase these things."

"What about your dad?"

Draco's lips pursed slightly. "Azkaban are rather stringent on the 'no letters from family' rule, I'm afraid."

Harry faltered, knowing he'd strayed into forbidden territory. He backtracked. Now wasn't the time. "So – so you're going to tell your mum, at least." He gazed down into Draco's eyes. "Do you think you'll be alright?"

"Mother? Psssh. She's the least of our worries." The awkwardness had passed; Draco leant up, kissing the corner of Harry's mouth. "She had to find out someday. Why someday? Why not today? Besides... she adores me. So does my father."

Harry couldn't help but smile. "I can't believe you really did it... when Ron told me this morning, I was still a bit shocked. I didn't have to act much."

"You were brilliant at breakfast. It went like clock-work."

"Do you think it's really going to work?"

"Of course I do!" Draco's eyes sparkled, his soft hands lifting and cupping Harry's jaw. "It's perfect. Severus would have had us waiting around for months, years, waiting and waiting and letting this maniac have constant power over us – this way, we condense it into weeks at the most. Admittedly, there are risks... but there would be risks anyway."

He stroked a kiss over Harry's lips.

"Soon enough," he murmured, "you'll be getting another cute little letter. When you do, we act as if we couldn't care less. We just carry on as normal, start some juicy little rumours, show that we won't be split up, and they have nothing on us... the stalker gets angrier and angrier, more desperate, thinks they're being ignored, sends more and more letters... and starts to make mistakes. Then we have them."

He smiled.

"I had some more ideas, by the way. We can cast a variety of defensive spells around your bed – to tell us if anyone's been near them but you. I thought we could put tracking charms on _all_ the school owls, too. It's time-consuming and we'll need to wade through a lot of rubbish, but it could pay off. We could have this creep in weeks."

Harry had to marvel at Slytherin ingenuity – there was nothing else like it in the world. Draco's newly-blazing energy and determination were so refreshing after weeks of paranoia and misery and sneaking around at night, weeks of waiting for the next horrible letter to come along. Taking things into their own hands felt _good_.

"Have I told you lately you're brilliant?" he said, and Draco glowed. He grinned, leant in and stroked his lips over Harry's once more, humming at the tender kiss in response.

"We'll hunt the little freak down like a weasel," he whispered against Harry's lips. "We'll destroy them. Nobody orders _my _lovers to stay away from me."

Harry felt his eyes closing over, soft pleasure coursing through his veins. He'd missed Draco's passion so much. It felt like when they first began, so long ago now – it felt like years ago now, and he only loved Draco more each day. The adoration never waned. The dizziness never settled; the passion never lost its spice, its burn. He leant for Draco's lips, pursuing them as they moved playfully out of his reach, grinning at the giggles he elicited.

"Kiss me?" he murmured, hopefully.

Draco kissed him, sating him for a moment or two, splayed fingers soothing over his pectorals. "Feels strange doing this in the open," the blonde whispered between their mouths. "Not..."

"I know." Harry tightened his hold. "We'll get him back."

"Promise? Promise me this is what you want?" Draco drew back a little to study him, affecting a serious look. "If you want it to stay just as us two, you have to tell me. You have to let me know now."

"I want him back," Harry said. He didn't need to think about it. "It's... it's important. He's a part of us."

Draco's eyes softened; he smiled. "I feel that too."

"What word did he have with you today?"

"Oh... he'd heard the news." Draco rolled his eyes. "He wanted to know what I was up to, why I'd done it... did I not realise how irresponsible I was being... et cetera."

"And what did you tell him?"

"Nothing." Draco wrinkled his nose, as if he couldn't quite think how to phrase it. "He wasn't Severus," he said in the end. "He was Professor Snape, to whom I owe nothing and tell nothing. I told him that, as my professor, if he showed anymore untoward interest in my sexual life, I would report him to the headmaster for inappropriate behaviour."

Harry's eyes widened. "You – you actually said that to him?"

"He went rather green and told me to go." Draco blew a lock of hair out of his eyes. "He can suck on it. Let's hope it keeps him warm at night."

Harry smiled faintly. "Let's hope."

"He was just rabbiting on at me... saying that clearly I didn't realise the gravity of the situation. Telling me I was being 'provocative'." Draco grinned. "I almost told him that's the _point_."

"He wouldn't approve. I think you're right – he'd rather we sit and waste our lives worrying about some monster in the shadows, watching us."

"He'll thank us," Draco said. "When things are fine..."

His eyes glittered in the darkness.

"For now," he whispered and pushed up against Harry, his splayed fingertips descending to sneak under the hem of Harry's t-shirt. They roved up over his stomach, his ribs, flittering, and Draco grinned. "Seeing as we're on sacred ground..."

Harry tried not to smirk – he supposed having two Slytherin lovers was finally rubbing off on him. "Sacred ground?" he said, and as Draco's fingers brushed his nipples, he hissed a little.

"Mm hmm. Don't you remember?" Draco began to kiss along his jaw. "Our first time here... way back."

"Mmh, course I remember. How could I forget?"

"Love you." Draco's left hand descended, skimming Harry's stomach and cupping him between the legs, rubbing through the thick denim. "Harry – I – I was a virgin. I've never told you. You were first."

Harry's head whirled; he swallowed, thickly, trying to think of anything beyond the rising heat in his groin. "Yeah," he breathed. "Yeah – me too."

"_Oh_ – I knew it..." Draco kissed him, hard, until the breath ran low in Harry's lungs. Draco was kneading him hard now, squeezing, and his jeans were becoming more and more uncomfortable. When the blonde finally grappled for his buttons, jerking them open, Harry let out a moan and then a full-body shudder as Draco's hand soothed inside. His cock ached. He reached down, holding Draco's hand where he needed it and shivering, his head falling back against the wooden boards as his boyfriend rubbed just right. Draco licked at his jaw.

"Good, love?" the blonde whispered; Harry swallowed and nodded. "How about we lie down?"

They spread their cloaks across the driest patch of ground they could find in the dark. There they settled, kissing and groping, shivering together as skin was bared to the air, and Draco was not interested in a half-dressed fumble. He stripped Harry naked without the least negotiation; Harry did not protest. They rolled together with muffled moans and gasps, hands searching, soothing, and they came to lie face-to-face. Draco hooked one leg over Harry's thighs, pushing close. "Please," he was moaning, faintly. "Please, _please_..."

Harry ran his fingers down Draco's spine and cosied gently into the cleft of his arse, finding the soft pucker, pressing, easing – Draco's natural oils admitted two fingers without the least resistance. He slipped in the third and Draco's moans grew in pitch and volume. The blonde's head fell back on Harry's coat, cheeks flushed pink with excitement, and he chewed slowly at his lower lip.

"F-fuck," he mumbled, shivering. The muscles in his throat shifted as he swallowed. "Oh God, Harry – put it in me. _Please_."

"R-roll over." Harry drew his fingers out, wrapping his arm tight around Draco's waist as the blonde turned over, back-to-chest. Harry spooned up tight behind him. "Lift your leg for me? A-and relax – lie back against me – "

Draco parted his legs, reaching back to hold one thigh aloft – he was quivering all along the length of his body. Harry buried his face in the silkiness of Draco's neck, closing his eyes, guiding his cock to the tight ring of muscle.

"Oh fuck," Draco whispered, as he pressed slowly inside. The blonde let out a little moan. "Oh _fuck_, yes. More."

Harry rocked his hips, pushing the rest of the way and squeezing his eyes shut as Draco's body tightened to hug him. He reached around to grasp Draco's cock. The blonde whined in the back of his throat.

"M-more – _fuck _ - "

Harry bit at his neck, starting to rock – the heat, the tightness, was impossible. Sparks of pleasure began to skitter over his skin from the first gentle thrusts, darting all over his body, making him shudder. Draco's hips bucked slowly in time. Time slipped away and things no longer mattered, and Harry's mind drifted, dreaming back to the castle and a cold dungeon bedroom where a man sat alone, missing them, needing them. Harry wondered if Draco was thinking the same things. He wondered if Severus even cared where they were. He let it go, deciding it didn't matter tonight, deciding that the mess of the world could wait until another time. It wasn't welcome right now.

Midnight came; and Harry and Draco not long after.


	13. Scandal the Second

*****

**Triquetra**

_**By Mottlemoth**_

*****

**Chapter Thirteen – Scandal the Second**

The arrival of the fourth letter, two days later over breakfast, did not ruffle Harry as much as the others. He spotted the brown envelope even before the owl had dropped it in his pancakes, and he opened the sticky letter without a flicker of outward concern. He tugged the note free.

_oH dEAr hARry... yOU aReNT MAKinG ME hAppY. dONt dO it. dOnT THInK AbOUt it, HaRry. YOuLL rEGRet IT. YoU wERe dOInG So WEll fOr Me. LeAVe hIM AlONe._

Harry read the letter several times, unimpressed. It wasn't nearly as aggravated or upset as he'd hoped, but at least there was a nice signpost telling them which direction to take next. He folded the letter calmly back into its envelope, licked the syrup off it and returned to his pancakes.

"Harry?"

He glanced up; Hermione was watching him from across the table, worried. He smiled.

"It's okay," he said. "More of the usual... a bit disappointing, actually. I was hoping for a bit more frothing at the mouth and raving. I'll show you later."

"Is it...?"

He cut himself a piece of pancake, transferring it idly to his mouth. "Yeah," he said, "but I think they're losing their touch."

"How many is that now?"

"Four." Harry shrugged. "And not even one pair of their underpants yet. I'm starting to doubt their commitment to the whole 'stalker' thing."

As he poured himself another glass of juice, he felt the unmistakeable weight of eyes from the top table. He glanced up, coolly, and found Snape watching him with a particularly intent and suspicious scowl.

The hurt had not quite eased yet; Harry frowned at the older man, trying to communicate '_what's your problem?' _in a single look. Snape was not perturbed. He continued to glare at Harry, knowing and angry, and in the end Harry looked away. He wondered if it was worth missing Potions, just to buy himself an easy life. He could not deal with Severus yet. Severus, for the time being, was nothing more than an external factor that could cause trouble and had to be monitored, a potential inconvenience. Harry finished his breakfast, ignoring the continued presence of eyes on the side of his head, thinking of other things.

On his way out of the hall, a hand pressed between his shoulder blades. He was steered away from the crowd down a side corridor, towards the nearest classroom.

"In," Snape said quietly.

Harry, keeping his cool, stepped inside. He did not turn round, even when the classroom door shut and silencing charms were cast.

"A fourth letter?" Snape said behind him, and it _was_ Snape. Severus was nowhere to be seen or heard. Harry moved over to the window, glancing out across the grounds with interest, as if he were in here by his own choice.

"It was," he said, absently.

"And it said what?"

Harry frowned. "I didn't realise you had any claim to my private mail, professor," he told the empty pane of glass.

"Do not play games with me," Snape growled. "I've already had this from Hogwarts's newest Gay Rights Activist yesterday, and I am _not_ going to take it from you. Give me the letter."

"Why?" Harry turned at last – he glared over his shoulder into the flint-like eyes, hating them. Somewhere behind those eyes, his Severus was trapped alone and needing him. "Why do you care? I thought you weren't prepared to risk your career any longer. Not prepared to risk your sterling reputation on cheap meaningless sex."

Snape stiffened. "At no point did I label what we had as meaningless."

_What we had_. Harry took the comment like a fist to the gut, but he was not yet down. His lip curled.

"Can I tell you something you deserve?"

Snape snorted. "You're about to thank me?" he said. "Apologise to me?"

Harry left the window, drawing near. He was at a height disadvantage of several inches, but didn't let it trouble him as he smiled up into Snape's deadened black eyes.

"No," he said. "I'm going to tell you to fuck off, and get over yourself, and quit bossing me around like a little boy."

Snape's face worked. "This is your last chance," he whispered, "to give me that letter, and stop _acting_ like a little boy."

"Or what?" Harry's smile widened. "You'll shout at me? Put me in detention? Tell me you love me, then break up with me? Don't cry or anything, but you've used all your available weapons on me. I've seen it all and I'm still here, and I'm not afraid anymore. So..."

He shrugged.

"If you see Severus, tell him I miss him," he told the stone-cold stare. "Otherwise, I have nothing to say to _you_."

He brushed past Snape, heading for the door. Snape barked after him.

"You will have shown me that letter by the end of this week. Do not fool yourself."

Harry said nothing, twisting the handle.

"And tell Draco his little stunt has achieved nothing," Snape spat as Harry opened the door.

He glanced back at the professor, standing in the middle of the empty classroom with a deeply-etched sneer and very rigid shoulders. Harry frowned in distaste.

"Of course it hasn't," he said. "Not yet."

He left, closing the door. He flickered away into the tide of students.

*

Harry's first opportunity to write to Draco came that night, as they all relaxed in the common room after dinner. He borrowed a scrap of parchment from Ron, retrieved Hedwig from the Owlery and settled down in an armchair to write.

_Dray – fourth letter came this morning. Have copied out beneath letter-for-letter, and tested it for obvious things like a magical signature but it's telling me nothing. Personally I'm not impressed or scared. I don't think they're mad enough yet. What do you think? Love from H. X_

_PS. Cornered by S'rus earlier on. He blew lots of hot air and I told him to fuck off._

Beneath, he copied out the latest message. Hedwig soared away out of the window, returning some ten minutes later and rapping on the glass with her beak to be let in. As Harry carried her back to his armchair, Hermione looked up from her books.

"Are you okay?" she asked, eyeing the message he was untying from Hedwig's leg.

He smiled. "Sure, why?"

"Who...?"

"It's okay," he said. "I'm handling it."

She didn't seem convinced, but let it go. Harry read the note from Draco absently, rubbing the side of his neck.

_Hello, love. I think you're right – it's not enough yet, even if they are definitely ruffled. (it's working; we just need to do more). This means moving onto stage 2 of the plan though... how do you feel about that? Love, your D._

_PS did you really tell him to fuck off?_

Harry, grinning, scrawled his reply.

_I did tell him. He wasn't happy. He wanted to see the letter but short of kidnapping me he is not going to see it. Btw, he referred to you as "Hogwarts newest gay rights campaigner"._

_With stage 2 - I'm a bit nervous but I'm happy to move on if you are. I should be okay. I'll do it as soon as I can. Give me a few days? Love from H. X_

"Who are you owling?" Ron asked, as Hedwig returned for the second time and Harry brought her in through the window.

"A guy in Ravenclaw," Harry said. "I think we accidentally swapped dragon-hide gloves in Potions. The ones I've got now are huge. He must have mine."

Ron, who did not do Potions, nodded and returned to his magazine. Harry sat down to read.

_He called me that? The bastard._

_Take as much time as you want; please don't be nervous. I support you and love you all the way. If you want to meet up and talk, just tell me, as I suppose we no longer have to be secretive or subtle. Keep thinking about how happy we'll be when it's all over and we're safe. Love, your D._

Harry folded up the note, tucking it inside the pocket of his jeans and trying to hide his dopey grin.

All the same, he could not suppress a little fear at the thought of the next stage of their plan. It was a big step. It was a step he'd never ever thought he would take, but things had gone too far to look back and worry about the extent of the change. They were long past that.

It was all necessary, he thought. He'd made his choices. He would see them through to the end.

*

For several days, Harry could only wait and keep his ears pricked for the best opportunity. A few possibilities emerged, but be it through fear or through instinct, he let them pass by. He needed a sizeable public audience and the right topic of conversation. Fortunately, both reported for duty at dinner one night, when Dean Thomas stretched across the table towards the dwindling dishes of food.

"Hey, Ron. Pass me that sausage, will you?"

Ron's face split in a grin. "That's what your mum said."

"And what _Malfoy_ said!" Seamus cried beside Dean, and the table de-evolved into a general chorus of laughter. Dean was actually thumping the table.

The only people not laughing were Hermione, who frowned behind her book, and Harry, who was sensing his moment. He gathered his courage. Beneath the table, he slid a hand into his pocket and took hold of Draco's note, squeezing it like a talisman.

"Come on, guys," he said, pouring himself more pumpkin juice. "He's gay, get over it. It's not that funny."

Dean wiped a few tears from his eyes. "Potter, are you serious? It's fucking _hilarious. _I'm _never_ going to stop laughing about this."

"What're you standing up for Man-Eating Malfoy for?" said Seamus, grinning. Dean spat out a mouthful of pumpkin juice.

"Man-Eating Malfoy!! That's _brilliant!_"

"Right. That's his new name from now on."

"Definite."

"I'll give a sickle to the first person to call him that in front of a teacher!"

"Whoa!"

"I'll do it!"

Harry watched them idly, sipping at his pumpkin juice. When a lull had come in the dares, he raised his voice.

"I'm sticking up for him," he said, and a lot of eyes turned his way, "because maybe there's nothing _wrong_ with fancying guys. Maybe it's, you know, a part of normal human life."

A silence came. Dean giggled nervously under the tension, gave a little snort and said, "Uh... it's not _normal_. Normal people fancy girls. If you – you know, fancied guys _too_ – you'd be. I don't know. Bi or something."

Harry shrugged, finishing his pumpkin juice.

"I guess that makes me bi, then," he said.

Ron dropped the full dish of baked beans he was handing to Ginny. The dish hit the floor and splattered beans in all directions, soaking the robes and shoes of everyone within a two-metre radius. His hands still in the shape of the bowl, he stared at Harry wide-eyed and white in the face. He wasn't the only one. Life on the Gryffindor table ground to an instant, utter stop. Conversations faltered. People turned to stare.

It was as if the soundtrack to Harry's life had suddenly broken. Hermione was looking over her dropped book with an expression of absolute horror, her hands over her mouth.

Harry shrugged.

"Come on, people. It's pretty common." Even pupils on the next table had turned to goggle. "No big deal."

Harry doubted a meal had ever been finished so quickly at Hogwarts. People wolfed down a few more slices of bacon or a half-hearted piece of toast, then made a variety of excuses about homework or seeing their friends tonight. They then sprinted from the hall, Dean and Seamus firmly in the lead. As they passed through the arch, Harry heard Seamus scream, "Potter's gay _too!_ _Everyone's turning gay!! _It's a _PANDEMIC, people!!"_

Ron had not yet recovered – he was still staring at Harry with considerable alarm, oblivious to the baked beans splattered all over his trousers and up his shirt.

"You – you serious, mate?" he managed at last. He swallowed. "You're – you're gay, then?"

Harry frowned. "No, it's both. Bisexual."

"But you're – you're _half-gay_, as it were." Ron looked away, nervously. "You're confused and stuff."

"No, Ron. I'm bisexual. The trick is in the 'bi' bit." He frowned, trying not to make it too fond. "I don't fancy you. I'm not _that_ confused."

This seemed to ease Ron's worry significantly. His shoulders sagged slightly and he coughed, finally realising he was painted in baked beans. He pawed at them ineffectively, brushing a few off his tie.

"Right then," he said. "Well... you know. Great. Freedom of equality and all that. I'm all for it. Congrats."

"Thank you."

"Harry!" A Hufflepuff girl suddenly appeared at his elbow. "Harry – my mate says you're – "

Harry couldn't begin a reply before he was besieged by a crowd of eager Hogwarts pupils, all of them demanding the same thing. People that Harry had never spoken to in his life were suddenly clamouring at him, desperate to hear it for themselves. Someone shook his hand. Confused, swept up, he could only give a dazed grin and try to answer each person in turn, as more and more inquirers poured over to the Gryffindor table. They paddled in the dropped beans without a second care. The hall rang with voices, with both shocked disapproval and best wishes, and through the crowd Harry spotted Professor Snape stand up at the high table.

The professor was white in the face – he knew. He already knew what gossip it was drawing people to Harry like moths to flames, and he was already halfway to livid. Professor McGonagall, too, jumped to her feet. Before they could even excuse themselves past the other staff, the crowd around Harry parted in two.

Draco Malfoy swept through into the circle, flanked by a sizeable pack of other Slytherins. Harry noticed Pansy Parkinson tight at his elbow. Draco looked down, sneered and lifted his cloak out of the beans, affronted. He then turned on Harry.

"Well?" he demanded. "Some Hufflepuff has just told us you're apparently bisexual. Is it true? When did you figure this out?"

Harry gave a sideways smile. "Yeah, I guess it's true." He raised his eyebrows. "And I suppose I figured it out when I started fancying girls _and_ guys."

Draco swallowed – he was a hell of an actor, Harry thought. He was pristine. Even Harry was left for a moment wondering if he'd in fact dreamed the past half a year.

"Well," the blonde said. He sniffed. "Well, good on you, Potter. Good to see you've finally grown some balls."

Pansy Parkinson appeared to be shaking slightly. "You're only copying Draco," she said, wrinkling her nose - though her eyes were full of fear. Harry seared the image onto his brain. "Aren't you, Potter? You think you're clever and trendy. You're not _really_ bi."

Harry scowled at her, his heart beating a little harder. "What do you want me to do, prove it?"

Pansy paled. "_No_ – " she began, but Draco cut across her.

"Leave Potter alone, why don't you?" he sneered. "You think people come out with this stuff for fun? If he's bisexual, he's bisexual."

She withered under his gaze, her eyes flitting between Draco and Harry. "It's – " She glared at him. "Next thing he'll – he'll be saying he fancies _you_. He'll be pretending he wants to be your _boyfriend_. Is _that_ your plan, Potter?"

Snape had finally reached the group. He stormed through the ranks of people, his face contorted and his cheeks even more bloodless than usual.

"_Potter!_" He seized Harry by the front of the robes. "What the devil is going on?"

Harry struggled out of his grip. "Let me go!" he spat, getting angrily to his feet. "Ron dropped some beans, alright? What's with the third degree?"

Professor McGonagall was attempting to get through the thick wall of students, shouting at the top of her lungs for order. Harry barely heard her, too fixated by Snape's eyes – they were nothing but burning black pupil, fraught with anger and panic.

"_Up_," Snape seethed. He dragged Harry to his feet, seized him by the back of the neck and hauled him through the crowd. Harry could barely keep his footing in the slippery mess of beans, let alone struggle.

People stumbled to get out of the way, the mass breaking up at last, and Professor McGonagall finally broke through.

"Severus – "

"Potter and Malfoy," Snape said, with beared teeth. "Yet again, brawling like infants – it seems that their attitudes in sixth year are no different to first year. With your permission, Minerva, I will deal with Potter. If you would take Malfoy, and impress upon him the same – "

"We weren't _fighting!_" Harry raged, jerking at Snape's hold. "That's a lie!"

A few people in the crowd, too, began words to this effect. Ron, who had battled his way to Harry's side, erupted with a furious cry of,

"They didn't even touch each other, professor! They were talking!"

Professor McGonagall swept this aside, her face flushed with anger. "_Excuse me_, Mr Weasley, but I very much doubt this matter has anything to do with _you_!" She stormed into the pack of Slytherins. "Mr Malfoy! My office, this instant! _Fighting_, at sixteen – "

At last, someone slipped in the beans. A Hufflepuff boy lost his footing and skidded to one side, lunging for the nearest person, who happened to be Ron. Ron collapsed under the jerk to his neck and they tumbled together into the mess, knocking over a few more people as they fell. There were a lot of pained yells and struggles to get up, people kicking. Ron cemented the chaos by punching the Hufflepuff in the nose, thinking he was being attacked. Anarchy erupted.

In the tumult, Harry saw Draco being dragged from the room by a furious Professor McGonagall, angrily protesting his innocence. He took a step to follow.

"I don't think so," breathed the cold voice in his ear. He was seized about the neck. "This ends _now_."

Severus bundled him out of the hall before anything else could be said.


	14. Bindus

*****

**Triquetra**

_**By Mottlemoth**_

*****

**Chapter Fourteen - Bindus**

Soon, the anguished cries of the brawl were far behind, and they were heading down into the dungeons at speed. Severus swept Harry along as he staggered, struggling against the vice-like grip on the back of his neck.

"We weren't _fighting_!" he shouted, trying to twist free. Severus only gripped him tighter. "_Get off_! I didn't lay a hand on him, alright?"

Severus said nothing, kicking open the door of his office. He threw Harry inside. Harry stumbled and ended up in a heap of his own robes on the floor, his cloak twisted up over his head. He fought to free himself as he heard the door locked and sealed, charms cast, the wards raised. At last, he struggled free of the cloak and emerged into the air again, only to be seized and hauled to his feet.

"We _weren't _ - !!" he began.

"_I bloody know you weren't_!" Severus seethed, shaking him. "You think I don't _know!?_ You think I've brought you here because you were _fighting_!?"

He let Harry go, throwing him back to the ground. Pain seared in Harry's knees and the palms of his hands, but he wouldn't do this on the floor. He wouldn't cower at Severus's feet like a little boy. He struggled to get up, but before he could find his footing, Severus's wand was out. Harry had no time to block.

"_Bindus!_" Severus spat.

There came a whoosh and a crack; something seized Harry around the ankle, coiled tight. He dug his fingers into the cracks in the stone floor, kicking to no avail. Next second, another cord had fastened around his waist and jerked hard, and then binds were rushing around his wrists, each thigh, dragging him off his feet and to the back wall. He hit the stone hard. The breath gushed from his lungs and he cried in pain, trying to fight the grip of the cords. It was no use. They curled tighter and tighter until movement was completely impossible, wrenching him in place. Harry's head fell back against the stone and he panted with the pain, his eyes screwed tight. He couldn't even stretch.

"Severus – " He swallowed. "Severus, let me go."

There was silence for a few moments. Harry listened to his own frightened breath echo slightly in the icy office, until he sensed movement and opened his eyes.

Severus appeared in front of him, his face completely quiet. He pressed a hand to the wall either side of Harry's waist, as if Harry could feel even more trapped in this moment.

"What are you trying to do to me?" Severus whispered, his voice cracking. Harry closed his eyes.

"Let me go," he managed.

"Tell me you were fighting. Tell me you didn't just announce what I think you did."

Harry said nothing, panting still. Severus's forehead pressed to his.

"Why?" the professor said.

"I have nothing to tell you," Harry bit out – he tried to turn his head away, feeling his heart ache with misery and loss. He hated having Severus this close to him again. "It's none of your business. Nothing to do with you anymore."

"It is _everything_ to do with me," Severus whispered. "I... Harry, our having no future does not mean I want _nothing_ to do with you. That I do not _fear_ for your safety."

He cupped Harry's cheek. Harry felt heat spring in his eyes, screwing them even more tightly shut.

"What are you doing?" Severus said against his other cheek, despairing. "What on Earth do you think you're doing?"

"I'm taking my big chance at happiness." Harry swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. "I'm – I'm not _giving up_ on it because I'm _scared _– "

"If you're doing what I think you're doing, then you will get yourself injured. Killed. Worse. Please tell me you aren't being that stupid."

Harry cringed. "I don't _care_ anymore."

Severus paused, standing quite still with his cheek pressed against Harry's, his mouth at Harry's ear. The tenderness made pain sear in the Gryffindor's heart.

"Please tell me," Severus whispered. "I will help you. I will still protect you. Just – please do not do what I think is in your head. Please. Please realise you are not dealing with someone merely jealous."

"Let me go," Harry said, again. He twisted his face away. "You'll be glad when it works."

"Do you think I'll be glad when one of you is _dead_?"

"Do you think I'll be glad when you're sixty and you're alone?" Harry was struggling for breath. "When you blew your one big chance to die happy and safe, with people who love you? Or do you think I'll be glad to spend my life looking over my shoulder, never daring to settle down and be happy because someone thinks they've got a right to control me? I'm – I'm not going to live a life I never wanted, because I was afraid – and _neither should you_ – "

"This is nothing to do with fear," Severus hissed. "It's to do with – with _reality._"

"Reality is how frightened people justify wasting their lives." Harry swallowed. "I don't care if I end up dead. Better dead now, happy, than dead in sixty years _wishing_ I'd died for a chance of happiness now."

Severus faltered, his breath caught. His fists clenched at Harry's side and he urged, desperately, "You're _sixteen_. You can't understand what you're dealing with. How life plays out – how time passes – "

Harry took a wild leap of thought – he had wondered it before, in the back of his head and in the dead of night. He opened his eyes.

"What dumb choice did you make when you were sixteen?" He hesitated, watching the black eyes flash with fear. "Who did you let go? Who wasn't realistic enough for you?"

Severus stared at him, saying nothing for quite some time. Then he looked away.

"Lucius – had the most ridiculous notions of life. He was different, when he was young. A wild heart in the spring of his existence. He used to run away from home frequently, tell his parents he had no care for the family line..." Severus swallowed. "He decided we would travel. We would make the world think we were a pair of eccentric bachelors, bohemians – live out our days without a care in the world."

Harry felt his heart aching more powerfully than ever. Severus lifted his eyes to the ceiling, troubled, his shoulders stiff.

"Then he decided we would leave Hogwarts... at the end of our fifth year. During the holidays. He told me we would not need NEWTs. What use were NEWTs, when all we needed was love and a muggle train to nowhere?"

Severus shook his head.

"He'd even started packing by the time I told him exactly what I thought. I told him his parents were right – he was a fool. A fool and a coward shirking his responsibilities. I told him six months of meaningless sex after lights out was no foundation for a life-long relationship, for a future. I... I was angry. I was afraid."

He exhaled, his eyes searching the empty stone wall.

"He came back in September for our sixth year, completely changed. Serious. Upstanding, brutal. Then Narcissa turned sixteen, came into her heats... Lucius often asked me if I could smell vanilla. I had no idea. They were engaged by seventh year, travelling together during the summer holidays, when Lucius was not busily dooming himself to the service of the Dark Lord. I have no doubt that Narcissa will have wiped any trace of myself from Lucius's heart. They are a very perfect couple. I was best man at their wedding. He... he is exceedingly happy now."

Severus's eyes finally snapped back to Harry's.

"And now I'm the wrong side of forty," the older man said, darkly. "With two sixteen-year-olds telling me they love me. Telling me we'll get a cottage and a little dog. Telling the school that they are gay, and bisexual, and risking _death_ _from a stalker_ _rather than accept reality_."

Harry steadied himself with a long breath.

"Reality is," he said, "you fucked up and you let go of someone you loved. Now you're trying to do it again. I guess it's a good job Draco and I won't let you."

Severus's face contorted. "You will get yourselves killed," he hissed.

He turned away, suddenly, and swept across the room. Harry felt his muscles go limp in the restraints; he hung his head.

"I know exactly what your plan is," Severus said, his voice strengthening back into its usual commanding bite. "You intend to provoke this dangerous person into making a mistake out of desperation, thereby revealing themselves. It is ludicrous. It is hazardous to an extreme. And you will cease immediately. If I have to intervene and put a stop to your madness myself, I shall do, and I urge you not to underestimate my capabilities in the slightest."

His wand flashed. The cords slackened, like vines cut off at the root, and slithered slowly back into the wall. Harry crumpled to the floor.

"Tidy yourself up," Severus sneered. "Return to your house, and do not give me reason to contact you in this manner again."

*

"I bet you're glad of the peace and quiet."

Harry looked around from the sofa by the fire. It was just past eleven, and the rest of the house would be asleep by now. The sound of someone else's voice at first made him despair, having spent the entire evening confirming to idiots he didn't know that yes, he was bisexual and no, this didn't mean he wanted a girlfriend and a boyfriend at once.

As he spotted Hermione on the staircase, the tension in his arms eased. He smiled.

"Hi," he said, as she came to sit beside him on the sofa.

"How are you feeling?"

"A little battered," he admitted. He offered her his packet of Bertie Botts, and she took an orange one carefully. "It's been a really long day."

"I'm not surprised... Harry, I had no idea you were planning on – you should have told me. I mean, you made rather a spectacle of it."

He huffed. "Yeah, I know..." He looked down into the cluster of brightly-coloured beans, searching for a colour found in nature. "I feel like if I was thinking straight – uh, I mean if things were normal – then maybe I'd regret it. I can't right now, though. I've got too much other stuff to think about."

She watched him, quiet-eyed, the bean still held between her fingers. "Oh, Harry."

"I know. You don't have to tell me."

"Why... why did you do it? Did both of you plan to come out close together?"

He nodded dimly. "We've got a plan... I should have told you earlier. It's just been so hectic that I've not had time."

"What's your plan?"

"Well, we realised that if we didn't do _something_, we'd spend our entire lives under the thumb of this person – this stalker. Whoever it is. We'd just constantly be wondering where they are and what else they know. It's dangerous for Voldemort reasons, obviously, but just... living my life. I just couldn't face it. Neither could Dray."

He shifted.

"So then we realised we need to bring this person into the open. We need to provoke them, give them reason to send more and more letters, make them mad... this way, hopefully we can spot who it is." He frowned into the dancing flames. "Pansy Parkinson was very edgy today. She wasn't happy. I should have mentioned it to Severus..."

"How are you going to provoke them?" Hermione asked, looking tense and frightened, knotting the sash of her dressing gown between her fingers.

"Well... Dray and I have both come out. They responded to Dray coming out, so hopefully they'll respond to me. Next, we're going to spread rumours that Dray and I have been flirting in class or going for drinks in Hogsmeade."

"Oh – oh _Harry_ – "

"Then if we've still not got a proper suspect, we'll starting dating publicly. Lots of public affection and stuff, so hopefully whoever it is will see, get really angry and give themselves away." He picked out another bean. "Then we have to deal with them, and make sure they're not a threat anymore."

Hermione looked close to tears. "Harry... Harry, I know you'll be angry but – but _please_ don't do this. Please stop and think."

"I've had all this from Severus today, Mione... we've made up our minds. We can't live our lives in fear of some madman in the shadows."

"But Harry – your _career_, your future – "

"Can gay couples not have careers?" he said, scowling. "A future?"

"It affects your entire life," she said desperately, reaching for his wrists and holding them tight. "People will think _differently_ of you... I won't. You _know_ I won't. But the world's a horrible place, Harry – look what the papers already say about you, when you're not doing anything wrong! Look how miserable they've made your life in the past!"

"You think I _wanted_ to turn out gay?" Harry said, struggling not to get angry. He pulled his hands away. "You think I wanted to fall in love with Draco? With Severus? You think I've not thought about all this _myself_?"

"Harry – Harry, I'm sorry..."

He rubbed his face with his palms. "I... look, I'm sorry too. I didn't mean to snap. I know you're telling me this for my own good."

Hermione's eyes were shining. "You might already be in the papers," she whispered, as the first tear broke over her cheek. "Tomorrow... someone will have written to them. I wouldn't be surprised if Rita Skeeter is knocking on the portrait hole by seven o' clock."

Harry closed his eyes – he didn't want to think about Rita Skeeter, or the papers, or any part of the world outside the ring of couches and the fireplace. He didn't even really want to think about being here. He wanted to be in the quiet, safe set of rooms he hadn't seen for weeks now, reading nestled into Severus's side, playing cards with Draco, sharing chamomile tea before bed. He wanted to be in a cottage somewhere getting ready to walk the dog.

He felt his eyes welling up; the dog, why was it always the little dog that made him cry? What was wrong with him?

"Mione, I'm... I'm r-really scared. I'm more scared than I've ever been. But I'm trying to be brave a-and nobody will be brave with me. Everyone's giving up. They're just... just _giving up_. Nobody will even give happiness a chance."

He rubbed at his eyes with his sleeves, his cheeks hot and his shoulders shaking.

"I just want to go back," he gasped. "I – I want it to be like at the start. When nobody knew. When it was just our secret and we were safe."

Hermione was crying beside him; he could hear the hitching in her breath, the pain in each sob. "H-Harry – Harry, it's not _real_ – please try to _understand_. People won't accept you and Snape and Malfoy."

"I don't _want_ to be accepted! Why do I need to be accepted? Why is that _important_?"

"You have to live in the _real world_!" she half-cried, anguish pouring down her cheeks in glittering tracks now. "A-And – and didn't Severus say this person could _hurt _you? He said you could get _killed_ – you could _die_, Harry, why are you risking that? Why are you doing this?"

Harry sat silent, trying to think of a better answer than the one in his head. It was the answer he'd given all along, but nobody listened to this answer. Nobody seemed to hear it. More and more, he felt like they all understood a truth he didn't, like they all knew better than him. Maybe Severus had been right all along; maybe there _was_ no happily-ever-after.

He covered his face, shaking.

"Because I want to be _happy_," he said, as the tears burnt his eyes. He screwed his fists into his hair. "It's all I want."

There was silence for a very long time. When Hermione next dared to speak, she moved near to him and put her arm around him, and tried to make it sound like she wasn't crying just as hard as he was.

"There'll... there'll be other chances for happiness – " She squeezed him. "There'll be other people, Harry. People you can _be _with. What about Cho, do you remember? And Ginny – Ginny's nice, isn't she? Wouldn't they make you happy?"

Harry said nothing, letting the tears slide between his fingers. Hermione buried her face against his shoulder.

"If you – if you leave it," she whispered, hugging him tight. "If you just leave Draco, and Severus – and go back to normal - maybe the stalker will disappear. You might not hear from them again as long as you live."

He shook his head, sniffing, sitting up properly.

"No," he said, taking a deep breath. "No... I won't relax until we've found them. Until I know they won't come back again. Besides – if they're obsessed with me, they'll just threaten _anyone_ I love, ever again. I won't ever be happy until they're gone."

"But maybe there's another way to find them," she said, reaching up to dry his tears on her sleeve.

"It's gone too far for that," he said, feeling his heart sink in his chest. "There's no way back now..."

He looked up at her.

"You'll... stand by me, won't you? Even if – if Ron and the others – if they leave me – "

Her eyes filled with fresh tears.

"Of course I will," she whispered; she grabbed him in a hug. "Harry, you're my best friend... I don't want you to be hurt. All I want – all I want is you to be safe – "

She started to rock him, side-to-side.

"I just want you _safe_," she said again in his ear.

Harry was hardly aware of his own voice. "When I'm a sad old queer bachelor," he sobbed, "can I come live in your attic? I won't scare your children – I p-promise – "

She laughed through her sobs. He couldn't help it; things had gotten too bad to care now. He laughed with her, shaking and crying at the same time, sending out silent thanks to whatever deity was still looking over him.

Even if he lost everything, at least he had friends.


	15. Grown Ups

*****

**Triquetra**

_**By Mottlemoth**_

*****

**Chapter Fifteen – Grown-Ups**

The rest of the week saw the arrival of no fewer than four letters, left in Harry's bed or dropped into his lap at breakfast by school owls.

Harry had all four with him on Saturday night, as he slipped into the warmth of the Three Broomsticks shortly after eight. He scanned the crowd, pulling off his cloak. A glimpse of white-blonde in the corner caught his eye and he made his way towards it, worming carefully through the mass of bodies. Nobody noticed him.

Draco looked up from his cowboy novel as Harry emerged from the crowd, and a smile curved the pale lips.

"At last," Draco said, pushing the book aside. "I thought you'd stand me up."

"Sorry I'm late... have you been here long?"

"No, not long." Draco nudged a butterbeer across the table as Harry sat down, unwinding his scarf. "Drink up, lover. It's a long cold night."

"Awesome, thanks... you're a star."

Draco's eyes sparked. "I try," he said, and put his book away. "So, let's see the damage... how many did you say? Three?"

"The fourth arrived this morning..." Harry uncorked the butterbeer with his teeth, rummaging in his backpack for the bundle of letters. "Do you want some good news?"

"Please tell me they signed one by accident."

"No, not that good... I think we're getting somewhere, though."

"Are they angry?"

Harry handed the letters across the table. "They're angry," he said.

Draco took a sip from his butterbeer, put it down and opened the first letter, shaking it free. His eyebrows lifted as he read the note aloud.

"'_What's wrong with you, Harry? Why are you making things up? Why are you telling people lies?'_" Draco moved onto the second. "_'Harry, don't you dare lie to people, stop making me angry, stop trying to hurt me.'" _Frowning, he opened the third. "_'I'm losing my patience, Harry.'_"

Harry held out the fourth letter – it had come only this morning, nested quietly in his underwear drawer. "My personal favourite," he said.

Draco unfolded it with graceful fingers, taking another sip of butterbeer. His eyebrows raised even more.

"_'Stop it_'," he read, calmly. The _'stop it'_ repeated all the way down the page, over and over, as if it were being screamed. Draco hummed in the back of his throat. "How interesting."

"I think we're getting somewhere."

"Yes, so do I. Have you tested them all?"

Harry pulled a face, swigging from his butterbeer. "I have," he said. "There's nothing to find out from them, no signature yet... so they're not quite mad enough to get careless. Have you noticed anyone acting oddly?"

Draco shook his head. "No, unfortunately... nothing out of the ordinary..."

Harry paused. "Sure?"

"Why?"

"Not... Pansy?"

"Hmm." Draco sipped from his butterbeer. "I take your point – I have to admit, she didn't seem particularly overjoyed when either of us came out. I think it's more based on me, though. I gather she thought she was in the running to become Mrs Draco Malfoy. I scuppered her dreams."

"That's a possible motive," Harry said, carefully. "And she does seem the 'stalker' type."

"Wouldn't she be inclined to stalk me, rather than you?"

Harry couldn't deny this was a fair point. He picked up his bottle and drank, deeply, letting the warm buttery froth slide down his throat and melt some of his tension. When he was finished, he wiped his mouth and said,

"So we need to move onto stage three."

"So we do."

"I think that should do it. If we plant rumours with the right people, they could be round the school in hours. Keep an eye on Pansy. See how she takes it."

"I will do. I think she's the most likely suspect we have at present."

"Have you searched her dormitory yet?"

"Naturally," Draco said. He sipped from his butterbeer. "No newspapers found – but then I doubt someone with the brains to disguise their magical signature would leave physical evidence lying around."

Harry drained the last of his butterbeer. "She'll slip up soon," he said. "She'll make a mistake. The second we have proper proof, all this is over and we can get back on track."

Draco watched him for a moment, a little smile curling his lips. He then reached across the table, taking Harry's hands. He laced their fingers.

"I love you," he said.

Harry's heart sighed. He squeezed Draco's hands, gently. "I love you too."

"Have you seen Severus lately?"

"No... not properly." Harry looked down at their knotted hands, Draco's slender digits and silver snake ring muddled up with his much stockier fingers. "He's just going about his life, I think. He couldn't care less. I've seen nothing of him this weekend... then in Potions, he's just Snape... just the usual, snarky, indifferent, jack-arse."

Draco tried a smile. "When the stalker's dealt with," he said, "we'll go and see him... together. Both of us. We'll just be sleeping in his bed when he comes in at night. I guarantee you he'll get in without a word. Everything will be back to normal."

"You think so?"

"I know so." Draco's eyes twinkled. "Did you see the thing in the Prophet?"

Harry's blood ran momentarily cold. "What?"

"The article about you? In the Prophet."

"There was an article?" He'd been hunting cover-to-cover for the past week, checking every single word to make sure none of it was about him. So far, nothing had come up – it was a small miracle, in Harry's opinion, though it was possible he'd missed something. "What was it? What did they say?"

"You didn't see it?"

"No!"

"Well, no wonder." Draco grinned. "There wasn't anything."

"_God,_ Dray! Don't do that to me!"

"They _did_ find out," Draco said, serious for a moment as he ran his fingers under Harry's cuffs, stroking his pulse points. "Apparently they were just checking the legal implications of discussing the sexuality of someone under the age of eighteen, and whether it was _really_ the right of the public to know – obviously, the Prophet thought it was. My mother begged to differ. She heard about the story before it broke, from an old friend on the editorial panel... she, ah, pulled some strings. Called in some favours."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Your mother did? So – so she knows about us? And she's – "

" – okay with it?" Draco grinned from ear-to-ear. "What do you think?"

"... I'm dreaming. I must be."

"I got a very long, winding letter," Draco said, idly, tracing circles on the inside of Harry's wrist. "It went on for quite some pages... I won't bore you with the finer details. Discretion and so on. Make sure I bear in mind that my father has a sterling reputation, that our family are respectable figures in the community... et cetera..."

"Does your dad know?" Harry asked, hesitating. He couldn't help worrying that whatever Lucius Malfoy knew, Lord Voldemort would also know, and that put Draco in considerable danger. He couldn't imagine Lucius Malfoy approving of Draco's choice.

Draco seemed to be following Harry's train of thought. He paused in his caressing, and faced Harry seriously across the table.

"Is this going to become a problem?" he asked.

"It... no, I mean... you're not – are you?"

Draco's eyes flared. "No."

"Then no. It's fine."

"My mother and I have nothing to do with my father's political alliances, nor will we ever." Draco drew his hands away, and he picked up his butterbeer. He sipped delicately from the bottleneck. "I have never been approached."

"No, I know, I – I wasn't suggesting – "

"Mother wouldn't allow it. If my father ever tried to broach the subject with me, she would take matters into her own hands and put a stop to it at once. She allows his activities so long as it does not affect our family."

Harry hesitated. "I..." He glanced around. "Look, I don't want to go into the whole – _Dark Lord _thing – but if Voldemort wanted you, I don't think he'd really care that your mum disapproved. It's not like your dad's a member of a posh golf club and they're looking for new members."

"A posh what club?"

"Golf, it's a muggle - ... look, never mind. I just mean that – "

"Harry – please just trust that I'm safe. My mother's priorities are firstly her child, then her husband, then her own life. I will not be joining the Death Eaters."

Harry's face creased. "How could she ever stop it, though?"

Draco let out a little sigh. He then stood up, and turned to the person nearest their table, a big burly man in a lumberjack shirt with a pint glass wrapped in his thick fingers. Draco tapped the man's slab-like shoulder.

"Excuse me?"

The man glanced round, sour-faced. "Huh?"

Draco's entire face seemed to soften; he gave a little smile, and there was a slight sparkle in the very depths of his eyes that Harry had not witnessed before.

"Could I possibly have your shirt, please?" Draco cooed.

The man grunted. "Sure," he said. "'Old me beer."

He gave Draco his pint – and, to Harry's alarm, dutifully unbuttoned his shirt. He handed it over in a bundle, now half-naked in the middle of the Three Broomsticks and without the slightest care.

"Thank you," Draco crooned, giving the man his pint back.

"Y'alright, mate." The man turned back to his startled friends, and continued his conversation. Draco offered Harry the shirt.

"How - ?" Harry managed, open-mouthed.

Draco grinned slyly. "My mother's is twice as strong. It's not even a form of magic – it's biological. More effective and with less chance of rejection than even than the Imperius curse. Believe me, Harry... I'm _very_ safe." He downed the last of his butterbeer. "If the worse comes to the worst, we call in my half-veela grandmother and watch her persuade the Dark Lord to dance for her and set himself on fire."

Harry's eyes widened. "She could do that? Do you mean it? But – but that could mean the _end_ of him – Dray, this is _huge_. Why has nobody ever thought of this?"

Draco shrugged. "Nobody trusts a part-veela. We are creatures, animals. Unpredictable. Fickle. The Ministry would never put that much faith in us, even as a last resort."

Harry's mind whirled. Who knew the answer to the entire crisis of Voldemort could be solved by Draco Malfoy's grandmother? The moment they were free of their stalker, he would take this information straight to Dumbledore. For now, they had enough to worry about.

"So... so your mum knows," he said, backtracking through the conversation. He was very aware of the half-naked man still standing beside their table. "And she's fine with it."

"She is. The Daily Prophet have decided nothing in the world could be more boring and uninteresting to the general public than some story about you being bisexual."

"She... used her twinkle, did she?"

Draco smiled, reaching for Harry's hands again. "No, of course not. What a heinous accusation. She used her natural charm and grace." He tilted his head, coyly. "Buy me another butterbeer?"

Harry was all too happy to oblige.

They spent another hour talking and emptying butterbeer bottles, until the clock above the fireplace chimed for half past nine. Harry remembered with a jolt and downed the last of his butterbeer.

"It's half nine," he told Draco. "We need to go now, if we want a good start to stage three..."

"Right." Draco stood up, reaching for his coat. "Do you think we'll catch them?"

"Yeah, it should be fine. They always leave the castle now. It's tradition."

Quickly they pulled on their cloaks and scarves, picked their way back through the crowded pub and slipped out into the Hogsmeade night air. The main street was quiet, but for the occasional group of drinkers moving onto the next pub. As Harry and Draco made their way back through the village, walking side-by-side, Harry kept an eye out for familiar faces. He saw none.

Draco's arm slipped into his, halfway home. Harry smiled and pulled him closer.

"Cold?" he said.

Draco shivered. "Slightly."

"We should have brought you another butterbeer for the walk home." Harry wondered if he should sacrifice his coat, or if that was too old-fashioned. He supposed that if Draco wanted it, he could make Harry hand it over anyway. On this thought, and out of curiosity, he asked, "Have you ever used your twinkly thing on me?"

Draco laughed, tucking tight into his side. "No, not purposely... maybe by accident, once or twice. Mother says it's improper to abuse the twinkle. It takes all the challenge out of life."

"Really? I'd love it... think of the chaos you could cause."

"Harry, you power-hungry dark horse. I never knew."

"Power-hungry? Me?" Harry's soul felt as light as air listening to Draco laugh, hugging his boyfriend about the waist as they walked. "You're a bad influence, is all. You _and_ Grump-Arse back at the castle. You've corrupted me."

"You love it," Draco burred. "You know you do."

Up ahead, two figures were walking along the road towards them. Harry tightened his hold around Draco's waist, pretending he hadn't seen the approaching pair.

"We should go for drinks more often," he murmured, and meant it. "I've really liked this. After exams, we should go to a muggle city and get completely plastered together."

"On muggle alcohol? I don't think so." Draco's head rested on his shoulder. "I think we should find a fireplace and a bearskin rug, and a good bottle of elf-made wine..."

"Isn't elf-made wine expensive?"

"I'm high-maintenance, Harry. What can I say?"

The advancing figures were now close enough for Harry to make out their faces – his heart leapt. Dean and Seamus were shuffling along the road to Hogsmeade in a world of their own, oblivious to the approach of Harry and Draco. Harry thought quickly for what could get their attention. One possibility emerged.

He slipped his hand carefully beneath the hem of Draco's shirt, just at the other boy's waist. Without mercy, and knowing he would pay for it later, he tickled at the bare skin.

Draco let out a yelp of laughter, loud enough even to wake people in the nearby houses. He squirmed into Harry's side and began to protest in giggles, as Dean and Seamus looked up. Harry, grinning, bundled Draco into his arms and walked on past, as if he hadn't noticed the other two boys. He heard them stop dead in their tracks.

"Was that - ?" Dean said.

"No way," said Seamus.

There was a pause; Harry and Draco kept walking, still hugging, as if lost in a world of their own.

"Potter?" Dean shouted, his voice carrying along the deserted street. Harry craned his head back.

"Oh – hey Dean! You alright?" he called; and they walked on into the night without another word.

Draco leant up a minute later, husking in his ear.

"Perfect."

"You think?"

"Mm hmm. It'll spread like wild fire. It's their word against ours, too – if we need to, we can just deny it."

"I don't think I want to." Harry slid his hand into Draco's back pocket for warmth. "Too proud to have you."

*

They kissed goodnight in the empty entrance hall. Harry watched Draco slip away into the darkness of the dungeons, his white-blonde hair shining even in the gloom, walking as if on air. Harry stood for a moment, letting his heart pound with love. He then headed up the staircase towards Gryffindor Tower, grinning to himself – dating was awesome. He would have to do it more often.

If only Severus had been there.

The thought quietened him; he felt almost guilty, having this much fun with Draco while he didn't even know how Severus had spent his weekend. Since the day of his coming out, Harry had not seen Severus anywhere outside a busy classroom, and he had a horrible feeling the older man was very happy with this arrangement.

Severus was missing out on so much, though. All this wasted time. They would never have this time back again, the spring when they were sixteen, and they should be doing nothing but making happy memories right now.

_Soon_, Harry thought, turning onto the corridor with the portrait of the Fat Lady. He pushed his hands into his pockets. _Things will be fine soon._

He looked up as he neared the portrait hole, wondering if it was too late for a shower. The thought left his head at once.

Someone was waiting for him outside the entrance.


	16. Demonstration Botched

*****

**Triquetra**

_**By Mottlemoth**_

*****

**Chapter Sixteen – Demonstration, Botched**

Harry came to a stop in the middle of the corridor, feeling his good evening sour in an instant. His shoulders tensed.

"What are you doing here?" he said, not bothering to sound respectful, and Severus frowned. The older man was wearing his weekend clothes, a muted waistcoat and shirt sleeves to the elbow. There were dark circles beneath his eyes.

"How was your date?" Severus asked, tersely.

It was Harry's turn to frown. "What are you doing here?" he repeated.

"I was sending some owls," Severus said, tight-lipped. "I looked out of the window and happened to see the two of you winding your way drunkenly through the grounds together. I thought I would intercept you while I could."

Harry huffed. "For what? So – so you can tie me to a wall again?"

"No." Severus approached along the corridor, at a slow and unthreatening pace. His eyes were very soft and tired. "I want you to listen to me without needing to be restrained. Will you?"

Harry said nothing. Severus came to stand before him.

"Is this the next stage in your ingenious scheme?" he asked. "Dates – rumours – incite your stalker into rash action?" He paused. "Or will you just announce yourselves as a couple, live the way you want, and take the consequences as they come?"

"We've got a plan," Harry said, lowering his gaze. He felt better addressing Severus's lapels than his eyes; there was too much in those eyes, too much history. "They'll make a mistake soon, whoever it is. They'll slip up."

"Harry..." Severus exhaled. "You cannot provoke a stalker. You cannot enrage them, ignite them – they _cannot_ be predicted, do you understand? Even their first strike could be fatal. One of you will get hurt."

Harry had argued about this too often to care anymore.

"I've made my choice," he said; he shrugged. "I've picked my lot in life. Maybe it's Draco's pheromones, maybe it's fate... I don't know. I don't think it matters. I've chosen, whatever the reason."

"What mistake do you expect them to make? Including a return address?"

"So maybe I don't know what we're looking for. I'll know when we see it." Harry dug his hands deeper into his pockets, turning his eyes across the walls, the floor, anywhere but Severus's face. "Besides, we're all keeping an eye out for weird behaviour... we think Pansy Parki-"

"We _all_?"

Harry blinked. "Dray and Hermione and me," he said.

Severus had gone very still. Harry realised a second too late, and sank his teeth into his lower lip.

"Granger?" said Severus.

"Yes." Harry took a step backwards. "I... I confided in her. I had to. I had nobody else to talk to."

"When?"

"Long after the letters started coming. Long, long after."

"I want an absolute date," Severus snapped. "Not a relative one."

"It's not Hermione, _alright_? And it's not Ron, either." Harry shifted, annoyed. "Why is it that we jump straight to _my_ friends as prime suspects? Why is it you assume that _I'm _the one with the psychotic friends?"

Severus did not reply. His stare had a far-away quality, as if he was reading things written all over Harry's face and not quite seeing Harry at all. After several seconds, he said,

"How did Granger react to your coming out?"

"She was supportive," Harry snapped. "A lot more supportive than _you_."

"No. No, of course she would be. My God, it's not even - " Severus's eyes sharpened, suddenly; he straightened to his full height. "Keep me informed of any developments. There should be none. Come to me on Monday evening, and bring Draco."

And he turned on his heel, stalking away into the darkness.

Harry stared after the older man, anger and confusion brewing up inside him until it bubbled out through his mouth, and he raged into the shadows,

"I'm not your _puppy_, Severus! You can't whistle for me when it's convenient!"

There was no response. Annoyed, Harry let himself in through the portrait hole and spent a long time in the shower, scrubbing the conversation away.

*

Harry's hopes of a sleepy Sunday morning lie-in were shattered when he woke to find himself being prodded in the shoulder, a hiss of "Harry?", and an anxious-looking Ron standing over his bed in the half-darkness. He rubbed his eyes.

"Ron, you've got to stop doing this to me..." He stifled a yawn. "You know I stay up late – "

"Dean and Seamus have just collared me at breakfast," Ron said, tensely. He had a pronounced frown. "Them and about twenty other people – asking me for the inside gossip – apparently the whole school's buzzing about you and Malfoy _dating._"

He swallowed.

"Dean and Seamus said they saw you and Malfoy coming back from Hogsmeade together – last night – they wanted me to _confirm_ it. They wanted to know if you'd told me more stuff. Can you believe the shit they come out with?"

Harry didn't know what he could say. He stared up at his best friend, pained, and realised that Ron would hear the truth someday. It was better he heard it now, direct from the source, rather than some tainted version from Dean and Seamus.

He took a slow breath.

"Ron, look – you're going to hate me – "

" – and now I've got _detention_ with McGonagall!" Ron burst out; his fists were shaking. Harry realised he wasn't angry or scared at all. He was upset. "I hadn't even gotten in a proper punch and she came storming over, dragging me out by my ear... Dean and Seamus got off scot-free! I couldn't believe it!"

"You – what do you mean, a proper punch?" Harry said, alarmed.

Ron's face twisted. "Dean," he said. "I thumped him. I told him it's not his bloody business who you date." The red-head shifted slightly. "And I told him he should stop spreading about your personal stuff, thinking it's funny. And even if I knew something, I wouldn't tell them. You're my best mate."

Harry's mouth fell open. "_Ron_," he said, hardly daring to believe it.

"I know!" Ron shuddered, letting out a strained huff. "Fucking idiots... thinking it's so entertaining. Thinking it's laugh of the century. I'd have broken his nose, if McGonagall hadn't dragged me off. You'll tell people when you want to. It's none of Dean's business."

"Ron – " Harry sat up, swallowing. "Ron, are you telling me you don't care that – "

Ron's cheeks coloured. "My mum says love is love," he mumbled. "It's all the same. Doesn't matter who people want to be with, so long as they're happy. It's nobody's business but you and Malfoy."

He shifted, holding out a crumpled paper bag.

"I brought you some toast," he said. "I thought you'd want to give breakfast a miss."

Harry was close to tears. "_God_, Ron... " He stared at his best friend, still not sure if this was all some wonderful dream. Any second he'd wake up to find Ron sat on his chest, beating the living daylights out of him. "You – you know it's _Draco Malfoy_, don't you?" He needed to check. "We're – him and me – we're not _confirming_ it yet, but... Ron, this is actually _happening_."

Ron looked away, fiddling with the sleeve of his jumper. "I knew you wouldn't be official yet. S'why I punched Dean." He cleared his throat. "And I know it's Malfoy. I guess it just means... you must... you know. _Really_ like him. You wouldn't prat about with this stuff."

He watched Harry worriedly for a moment.

"He's not a Death Eater, is he?"

Harry shook his head. "No."

"Well," Ron grunted. "It's alright then."

He shrugged off his backpack, unzipped it, and handed Harry a pot of raspberry jam.

"I borrowed this for you, too," he said. "For your toast – you'd better return it at dinner, though. The house elves probably need to refill it and stuff."

"Ron... Ron, if you ever need _anything_ in life, anything doing, any essays or _anything_ – "

Ron huffed. "It's alright, you don't have to. Just... tell me these things first, will you? I'm sick of hearing it from other people."

Then he grinned a little.

"I've filled Dean's bed with a load of ants I found in the courtyard. Teach him to make a joke out of my best mate."

*

Monday morning – Harry sang in the shower, hummed as he dressed and headed down to breakfast with a bigger smile than he'd had in weeks. Ron strode at his side, proud and alert as a guard dog. The red-head glared away anyone who came too close, anyone who looked as if they were about to ask Harry a question. Harry reached the breakfast table without being accosted by a single person – today, he decided, was going well.

It looked as if things would only get better, too. First thing was Potions, always an excuse to watch Draco across a steamy classroom; then tonight was their meeting with Severus. Harry didn't know what revelation the professor had reached, but there certainly hadn't been any further developments. Severus was looking more eased at meals, as if a great weight had been taken from his mind. It was a hugely positive sign.

Today might be the first day of the rest of their lives, Harry thought, reaching for the butter pot. It was empty.

"I'll get some," Ron said, hurrying to his feet.

Harry grinned. "It's alright, I'll do it."

He strode between the packed house tables, smiling at anyone who glanced his way. He ignored at least ten full pots of butter on the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables, and headed instead towards Slytherin, where Draco sat reading the newspaper amongst his admirers. More and more people turned to watch as Harry passed by.

As he reached his boyfriend, Harry leant low and picked up the untouched butter dish.

"Hey," he said, grinning, and Draco looked up in surprise. The rest of the Slytherins were even more startled to see him. "Can I take this? Are you done?"

Draco's lips curved. "Seeing as it's you. Will you be in Potions?"

"Of course I will. See you then?"

"See you then," Draco murmured, his eyes glittering. Harry grinned and headed back to the Gryffindor table, carrying the butter dish like a prize. Most of the school gaped after him.

As Harry sat back down, a wide-eyed Dean Thomas opened his mouth.

"Leave it," Ron growled before he could make a sound. Dean shut his mouth and returned to his cereal, ashen-faced.

"Anyone for butter?" Harry chirped.

*

"In – as quickly as you all can." Snape held open the door for them all to file in, raising his voice over the clamour. "We have a great deal of theory to cover today, and a number of demonstrations, none of which I intend to repeat at any stage. Take out parchment and quill, and sit in silence."

A large iron cauldron was mumbling to itself beside Snape's desk, letting out the occasional hiccup and a pale, quivering bubble. An array of glass bottles were waiting nearby. Harry and Hermione settled at their workbench in silence, hurrying to take out supplies as the rest of the class rustled around them.

As Harry tugged out his textbook, something slid from amongst its pages and disappeared under the desk. He craned back in his chair to see.

A brown envelope, marked simply _Harry_, sat at his feet.

He bent low, scooping it off the floor and quietly slitting it open as Snape began to speak.

"The solution I have pre-prepared at the front is a very simple base draft, common to a lot of potions which will involve some manner of preservative. The demonstration today is not a particularly exciting spectacle, but a necessary one. I suggest you all pay attention. You should note the colour and density of the smoke, the time taken for the reaction to begin, any odours, and whether you think a salt will be produced."

Harry pulled the letter free from the envelope, squinting at it through the gloom.

_eND it NOw - i Am nOt aFRaID - nEXt TIme i wILL Do WOrSe. yOU maDe Me dO tHIs. eNd IT nOW or nExt tiME wiLL be WoRSe._

Harry's breath tightened in his chest. He looked up, scanning the classroom quickly.

Severus was sitting at his desk, dictating the properties of the solution he was holding aloft. He seemed fine. Draco, too, was healthy and happy; he was listening to Severus with an absent-minded expression of interest. Nothing seemed wrong. Nothing seemed to have happened.

_Next time?_

Harry tried to slow the beating of his heart, staring down at the letter. What would next time be? What had happened the first time? Everything seemed to be normal. _'You made me do this'._ What had they done?

He folded the letter quickly, stuffing it into his bag. Whatever had happened, he and Severus and Draco were safe – he could worry about it later. Remembering that they were seeing Severus tonight, the panic calmed in his chest. He settled back in his chair, focusing at last on what the professor was saying.

"... a slightly volatile reaction. Observe."

He emptied the bottle into the cauldron. There was a half-hearted spittling noise and a few wisps of pale smoke, which Harry hurried to write down. Hermione had her head bent low to the desk, deep in concentration as she scrawled.

"This next bottle," Snape said, picking up something which looked more like a posh bottle of perfume to Harry, "is something most of you will never encounter in your lives. Astronomically expensive, due to both a complex extraction process and its use in almost all known so-called 'love potions'. Drafts of fortune, such as _felix felicis_, also require ample amounts of this. Any guesses?"

Harry put up a hand. No-one else did.

Severus frowned at him, but said, "Potter."

"Veela pheromones, sir."

Severus nodded. "Veela pheromones," he said, as the class hurried to write this down. "Bottling them as a liquid is notoriously difficult, and regulated by very strict magical laws. The pheromones must be kept completely free of foreign substances or their chemical composition alters dramatically. The scent of the pheromones changes in strength dependent on the veela who produced them, and the wizard or witch who smells them."

He uncorked the beautiful little bottle carefully, and sniffed.

"This particular sample comes from the Caribbean, and is scentless to me," he said, standing. He held the bottle towards a Ravenclaw on the front row. "Sniff."

Gingerly, the girl inhaled at the neck of the bottle; she shivered. "It's... it's like mandarin. It's really strong." She blushed. "It's good."

"Indeed." Severus sat back down, dragging his chair closer to the cauldron. "Uncontaminated veela pheromones are inert, and may in fact produce no reaction at all... silent yet deadly. Observe, nonetheless. There may be some released scent, if we're lucky."

He tapped a few drops into the cauldron; nothing happened. Harry began to jot this down.

"As few of you will continue your studies in Potions to a higher level," Snape was saying, "you will likely never encounter this ingredient again. If any of you _do_ intend to – "

He was interrupted as, suddenly, there came a hiss from the very depths of the cauldron.

Snape's brow creased. He leant closer, frowning into the water as it began to boil.

"_What the –_ "

The entire cauldron started to shake. The water sputtered and bubbled violently, unleashing a cloud of brilliant white steam, and the class drew back in their desks. A piercing, keening sound shrieked from the belly of the cauldron. Severus realised at last. He threw himself backwards.

_"Cover!!"_ he screamed.

The blast shook the very foundations of the castle.

Somewhere in the ringing and the rubble, Harry knew only one thing. People were screaming and lurching around him but they were ghosts, lost to him now, shapes in the chaos running for the door. He struggled towards the front. He clawed his way through people crying, people shrieking. He fought to the shattered wooden desk and dragged it aside, shifting hot pieces of metal with his hands until he could see skin through the debris. The walls were shaking.

There came a flurry of white-blonde at his side.

"Help – " Harry managed, dragging Severus out of the rubble. "Help, _help_ – get his legs – "

He didn't see Severus properly. He didn't stop to look at him, to assess his injuries or if he was alive or if he even had a face anymore. There wasn't time. He got his arms around the older man's chest and pulled until Severus came free. There were flames now, flames consuming the dungeon walls, and all he could see was the door being swallowed up by the smoke. Draco dragged Severus's legs onto his shoulders. Harry slugged the rest of the man's body onto his back, barely feeling the weight. They staggered for the door.

A horrible rumble was beginning.

Harry felt it from the ground up, felt it quaking in the bones of his legs, and he felt it pressing down from above on the back of his neck. His feet weren't safe on the ground. He would never forget it.

They ran through the smoke, fire lashing at their legs and the rumble growing louder, until they were out of the burning classroom and heading for the stairs, for daylight.

Harry kept running. He ran even when they reached the light, even as he heard behind him the great howl and roar of crashing stone and the Earth ripping open to devour half the dungeons. He ran towards the light, into it, letting it gather him up and he wasn't running on ground anymore. He was just running. He ran until the thunder stopped.

Then silence came.


	17. Eight Days

*****

**Triquetra**

_**By Mottlemoth**_

*****

**Chapter Seventeen – Eight Days**

A nurse appeared in the door halfway through the night. She was carrying a candle and a cup of chamomile tea, and her eyes lingered on Severus lying motionless in the bed.

"Everything alright?" she asked.

Harry tried a smile. "Yes... thanks. We're alright." Draco did not look up from where he lay draped over Severus's chest, his eyes closed, blonde hair splayed across the hospital sheets. Harry knew how he felt. "We'll let you know if there's any change," he mumbled to the nurse.

She nodded, took one last look, and drifted away into the darkness.

"Close the door?" Draco whispered against Severus's chest, not opening his eyes. Harry got to his feet. "How long has it been now? Which night is this?"

"Eight," Harry said. He swallowed around the lump in his throat, closing the door with a quiet snap. St Mungo's at night was an even worse place to be than St Mungo's during the day. "There was a doctor here when you went to shower. She said he could wake up at any time now. We... we've just got to wait and see."

"We've just got to endure." Draco's eyes opened at last, glassy and half-dead. He stared at Severus's silent face. "Nobler than strength."

Harry gazed down at the two of them, feeling his heart contract. "And patience than beauty," he whispered.

Draco's eyes filled with tears. "As if he has that anymore," he bit out, reaching up. He ran his fingers over the burns that now covered half of Severus's face, raw and shiny even in the dark. They would fade in time, if he pulled through. "He was so _handsome,_" Draco wept, shaking. "He was so _beautiful_. L-Look what they've done to him."

Harry had looked for eight days now – eight days, he and Draco had kept up their vigil at St Mungo's. Eight days of thinking today might be the day Severus left them. Eight days of consultants being surprised to see him alive in the morning, eight days of begging and praying and eight days of looking. Draco hardly ate or slept. He just cried at Severus's bedside.

Before Harry's eyes, both the people he loved were fading away.

"It's a miracle he's alive," he said, his voice tight, approaching the bed. "We've – we've got to be grateful...and it doesn't matter what he looks like, not really. So long as he's still here."

Draco was staring at Severus, stroking his jaw with weak fingertips.

"I just... just want to see his eyes," the blonde whispered. "I'd give anything. I'll know he's okay when I see his eyes."

Harry sat beside Draco on the edge of the bed, wishing he knew what to say. After eight days, his words of comfort sounded more and more hollow in his own ears, and he didn't know if there was anything left to say.

He laid his head on Draco's shoulder in silence, wrapping an arm around his lover's waist. Draco leant back, catching his hand. Their fingers knotted tight.

Together they looked down at Severus, as he laid in his hospital bed without the faintest sign of life. A long time seemed to pass.

"Ron wrote to me," Harry managed, whispering it against the back of Draco's neck.

"Mm?"

"He says they've restored the dungeons... special people came in from the Ministry, to sort out the structure, and all the teachers helped... the Slytherins moved in this afternoon. It's all back as it was. Like nothing happened."

Draco snorted. "How wonderful for everyone," he murmured. He squeezed Harry's hand, stirring in his arms. "Do they know what happened yet?"

"The pheromones must have been contaminated. Tampered with. They're saying it was just a horrible accident, couldn't have been foreseen, lucky nobody was killed..."

"_Accident_ – how can they – "

"Yeah... my thoughts precisely."

"Does anyone realise we're missing?"

"Everyone assumes we're casualties too. Some of the class saw us go back for Severus... apparently we're heroes. Dead on the scene if it weren't for us, saved his life, and so on..." Harry sighed, unable to keep in the sarcasm. "Selfless, brave, good Harry Potter and his valiant boyfriend, good enough to go back for a guy they hated."

Draco turned in his arms, surprised.

"You _are_ selfless," he whispered. "You _are_ brave. I... I saw you dragging half a wall off his body to get him out. Pieces of the cauldron. Look at your _hands, _Harry, for Merlin's sake! You _are_ a hero!"

Harry didn't look. He knew the scars well enough already, the great streaks that he'd been branded with by digging through scraps of burning metal to get to Severus. He couldn't remember any pain. The adrenaline had killed it all. He'd have the scars for life, the doctors said – eternally marked with his own idiocy. He closed his eyes.

"I should have saved him _before_ it happened," he whispered. "I... I should have stopped the class, the second I found the letter. I should have left you both alone when I was warned. He's right. Someone _has_ gotten hurt, and it should have been me."

"_Harry..._"

"And we don't even know who did it." Harry swallowed. "All this, and nothing's changed."

Draco shook his head, vehemently, pushing onto Harry's lap. He wrapped Harry tight in his arms.

"No," he whispered in Harry's ear. "No, _no_... stop it. When he's better, we're leaving Hogwarts. All three of us. We'll go somewhere safe, somewhere far away."

"And wait for the stalker to find us again." Harry buried his face in Draco's neck, overcome by the scent of vanilla. "Wait for one of us to get killed because I'm such a fucking idiot."

Draco clung to him, fingers digging into Harry's shoulder blades.

"He wouldn't want you to be guilty," the blonde said. "He wouldn't want you to think like this. You saved his life. You went back for him."

Harry shook his head, trying to staunch the tears. He couldn't cry. He'd managed eight days without crying and he wasn't going to start now, not when Draco was upset, not when things were still so critical.

"He'd be telling me _exactly_ how guilty to feel," he said. "He'd tell me it's my fault, all of it. He'd say 'I told you so' and he'd tell me he hopes I'm happy. He'd tell me I've scarred him for life. That's what he'd want me to think."

"You're wrong." Draco buried his fingers in Harry's hair. "You're completely wrong."

Harry said nothing, his throat too tight to speak. Draco seemed to understand and slid off Harry's knee, gently, kissing his cheek.

"Go get coffee," the blonde whispered. "Clear your head. I'll keep watch."

The thought of coffee brought Harry some small comfort, and he nodded, rubbing the back of his hand across his eyes. Draco gave him a last kiss and whisper of reassurance before he left, letting himself out into the dark hospital corridor. Even just a short walk might make him feel better. Sitting and watching Draco cry, and Severus impersonate a half-roasted corpse, was doing him no good.

There was a small waiting area nearby, with plastic benches and a vending machine that had provided all Harry's food since they arrived. Still rubbing his eyes, Harry punched in the code for two coffees and stood back to wait, taking deep breaths. He listened to the coffee rattle into the thin plastic cup, steam hissing.

Then from behind him came a very small voice.

"Harry...?"

He turned around. There was someone sitting on the plastic seats, and he hadn't even noticed. As he spotted the huddled figure and realised who it was, his despair was swept away by surprise.

"Hermione?" He wished he had the strength to smile. "What... what are you doing here? It's the middle of the night."

Hermione looked dreadful. her hair hung in lank waves and she clearly hadn't slept, her eyes sunken above dark circles. Knowing Hermione, she hadn't done anything but worry for eight days. All the same, turning up to visit in the small hours was somewhat unexpected – and he'd told Ron no visitors yet. He wasn't ready. Perhaps she hadn't heard.

"H-Hello Harry..." She reached up, dabbing at her bloodshot eyes with a handkerchief. "I'm _so_ sorry, this must look so weird – I just couldn't sleep, and I was going to come tomorrow anyway – so I thought – "

"No, that's... that's okay. It's sweet of you to come." Harry hesitated, pulling his coffee cup out of the machine. "You look really tired."

Her eyes welled with fresh tears. "How is he?"

Harry faltered, looking down into his coffee. "He's... he's stable. He's not distressed or in pain. The doctors say we just have to wait and see. Things could go either way. It's... just a question of time."

Hermione covered her mouth; there was something thoroughly green about her complexion.

"Oh Harry – " She choked back a sob. "I'm so sorry."

Harry was starting to wish she hadn't come. Things were awkward enough as it was, without well-meaning people here crying and offering him sympathy that meant nothing. He wanted to tell her to save the condolences until Severus was dead, then realised it probably wouldn't stop her crying. He smiled uncomfortably.

"It's not your fault," he said. "It's not like _you_ blew him up."

More tears filled her eyes; they cascaded down her cheeks, behind her hands.

"I didn't _mean_ to hurt him," she whispered. "Just – just _nearly_ hurt him..."

Harry decided he hadn't heard properly. He was going mad.

"What?" he said.

"I... I noticed at the start of the year, you were acting oddly – ever since the first night." She was staring at him, her eyes blazing with fear and her voice jerking. "You used to stare at Draco Malfoy across the hall. In P-Potions. Then – then you were asking me weird stuff about vanilla on your clothes, and staying out all night, and – and I did some research..."

She swallowed, then went on at speed, gasping, the words pouring out of her.

"And I found out about p-part-veela – the smell, and heats starting at sixteen, and increased physical attractiveness – a-and I realised he must have seduced you. And – oh God, Harry, I just hoped he'd get bored of you and you'd split up but then you were just spending more and more time away, and all the books said that veela bond young, and they bond hard and fast, and I – I just thought about _Voldemort_ and your career and the newspapers and what would happen if someone found out – if somebody r-realised – "

Harry said nothing, numb to the bone. Hermione was now shaking as if possessed.

"I just wanted to _scare_ you!" she gasped as the tears poured. "I thought – I thought if you knew someone was watching, you'd _realise_ a-and you'd split up – s-so I sent the letter... a-and at first I thought it worked...

"Then – then you were acting weirdly with Professor Snape... you had a f-feedback session with him and it took ages, and you were really upset – you just _stormed_ out of class, Harry, everybody saw – th-then you just disappeared one night and the next day, when Dean and Seamus pulled your shirt off and I just..."

She covered her face, shaking harder than ever.

"Oh _Harry_, you were destroying yourself and you had no idea – veela m-mate for life and I knew the ph-pheromones would be bonding you as a three, and if s-someone found out – you were ruining all your future, all your _whole life – _s-so I just kept sending the letters trying to frighten you, trying to make you leave them and then you told me it was true and you said it was _l-love_ – "

She gasped for air.

"And then Draco _came out_!" she wailed, clawing at her hair. "And then _you did_ and you were doing _exactly_ _what I didn't want!_ B-But you thought I wanted to _hurt_ you – you thought you _had _to, to stop me but I never_ – _I _n-never_ – and the letters were doing no good anymore, and so I thought – I th-thought – "

"You thought you'd kill one of the men I love," Harry whispered.

"_NO!!_" she howled. "No, Harry, _no!_ I _never – _I didn't realise how _powerful_ it would be – "

Harry said nothing. She went sobbing on, shaking.

"I thought it would just s-spit and m-maybe some s-smoke, and _nearly_ hurt him, I _never ever meant to – _just to – just to _scare_ you, just to make you _stop _– "

"All this time – all this time you've watched me in pain – " Harry couldn't believe it; he couldn't breathe. He couldn't see anything but the moment Severus had been thrown back by the force of an erupting cauldron, and his body had hit the blackboard and crumpled like a kid's toy. "All this time I've been _trusting_ you, telling you stuff and you've just – you've – it was _you! All along!!_"

Hermione convulsed from head to toe, sobbing so hard he could barely make out her words. She threw herself at his feet, grappling for the hem of his shirt.

"_Harry – _Harry, I _never_ meant it to go this far, I _never ever wanted to _– "

Harry struggled away from her. All the pain and the fear over the past eight days came to a head at once. Rage coursed through his body. His teeth gritted. He wanted to kick her, rip her apart, wanted it to be her lying half-dead in a hospital bed instead of Severus.

"_YOU MAKE ME SICK!! _You're meant to be my friend, my _best_ friend – I _trusted_ you! I trusted you ahead of Ron, _ahead of_ _everyone!!_"

"Harry – Harry please,_ please believe me – _i-it just got out of hand and then I couldn't tell you, you'd _h-hate me_ so much – "

"Oh, because I _like_ you now!? Because it's _not a problem_ now!? _You've probably KILLED him!!_"

" – just some water in the pheromones, I knew h-he'd be showing them but I never th-thought – i-it was just _water_, then when it went up, I just c-couldn't b-believe – "

" – knows _I'm_ bi, knows _Draco_ is gay, his _parents_ now know and – "

" – never, _ever _meant for things to turn out like _this – for p-people to get hurt – _"

" – could have avoided all that!_ ALL OF IT! _Did you even _consider – _"

Hermione broke, screaming and bunching her fists in her hair, "_I only did it to PROTECT YOU!!_"

The empty room rang with the silence. Harry stared at her, raging, struggling to breathe. After several seconds, he felt the weight of eyes on the back of his neck and turned round to yell at whoever it was to get out.

Draco stood in the doorway, white in the face.

"I think he's waking up," the blonde whispered, the sound tiny in the darkness.

Harry didn't look back at Hermione on the floor – he didn't care anymore, too full of anger and fear to comprehend anything beyond Severus. The coffee machine was now spilling over, boiled water trickling across the plastic floor near to where she sobbed. He hoped it drowned her. He hoped it seared the skin off half her face. He hoped there was nobody to come back for her.

As they raced along the corridor towards the room, Draco grabbed for his hand. Harry seized it.

"What was – " Draco began, and Harry snapped in reply.

"Nothing." He sped up, overtaking Draco and dragging him along. "What happened? Did he say something? Is he conscious?"

"He – he started m-moving and his lips opened – he squeezed my hand - I just panicked and I needed you, I shouldn't have left him but I – "

They reached the room at last, hurrying inside and leaving the door swinging on its hinges. Harry sank to his knees at the bedside. He felt like his heart was beating in his throat as he took Severus's cold hand in his own, leaning closer, searching for signs of life.

"Sev – Severus – we're here. We're _here_."

Draco hurried to Severus's other side, easing onto the bed. He cupped the older man's face. "Love, wake up..."

They waited, breath held. Severus did not move. Harry felt his heart begin to sink, all his hope starting to stale, the heat brimming in his eyes. _Please_, he thought. _Please don't leave us._

Then the fingers in his own twitched, just once.

And curled tight.

"Oh – oh God, _Severus_..." Harry gripped the older man's hand, squeezing it in both his own. He felt the tears break in his eyes, tears of relief and pain and exhaustion. "It's okay... i-it's all okay..."

Draco was now crying. He kissed Severus's temples and his forehead, whimpering, "We're here, love... you're safe. We've got you."

Severus's throat muscles contracted; his lips stirred, face tightening, and both young men waited on tenterhooks. He gripped their hands more tightly.

"My boys – " The words were barely audible. "_Thank God_."

They both sobbed; and for the better part of twenty minutes, neither of them stopped.

Harry cried harder than he had in his life, until his head ached and his face was hot and there wasn't a drop left in his body to cry. Draco veritably howled. They hugged each other, hard, and Severus more gently, and they watched the colour return to his cheeks and the rhythm to his breathing, and he said nothing else but he was here, he was alive, and Harry would never be afraid of anything else for the rest of his life.

Just as Draco's tears were finally drying, Severus stirred and his eyelids flickered open. He gazed up at them both, moving from one to the other, the black iris softening with utter relief – and Draco began to cry again.

It was a further ten minutes before the flow was re-staunched. Harry persuaded Draco to sit in the bedside chair and got him a hanky to sniffle into, fearing the blonde would need oxygen if he cried anymore.

When he was convinced Draco wouldn't pass out, he sat back on the bedside and took Severus's hand in his own. He gazed down into the liquid black eyes, feeling his heart stir with desperate relief.

Severus managed the smallest of smiles, as he drew in a long breath.

"I've... been unconscious for some time, then..." he whispered, his voice strained from lack of use.

"Eight days," Harry said. He kissed Severus's knuckles, wishing his own hands would stop shaking so much. "Eight – eight days."

"Good God."

"You've no idea."

"We – we thought we'd _lose_ you – " Draco blew his nose, hard. "The doctors were saying f-fifty percent, sixty percent – "

Severus huffed, softly. His eyes closed again and he squeezed Harry's hand, as if reassuring himself of something.

"I have more to live for than that," he whispered. Then, in a slightly louder voice, he said: "Miss Granger... what did you use to contaminate the pheromones?"

Harry and Draco looked around. Hermione stood in the shadows beyond the door, like a ghost, her eyes red and glittering with tears.

Her lower lip shook as she said, "Pure water. I... I thought – "

"Tap water," Severus whispered, "would have had the desired effect... the minerals would counter-act unstable particles in the pheromones... easing the reaction somewhat... pure provides no such protection."

She swallowed. "S-sorry, professor."

Severus's eyes were still closed, his fingers still twined with Harry's. "When did you discover the relationship?" he asked, quietly.

"I-I suspected since September. I... I know Harry so well – and he told me he could smell v-vanilla all the time – so I did some research..."

"What excellent initiative." Severus took a moment to gather his breath, resting. "You have acted, I assume, out of care... fear for a loved one... and with the best of intentions?"

"Always," she whispered. She shot a frightened look at Harry, covering her mouth with her fingertips. "A-All along. I just... just didn't want – didn't want him to ruin his whole future over something he wasn't _serious_ about – then when I r-realised it _was_ serious, it was too late to t-take it back..."

"Mm." Severus exhaled. "Then we were acting in each other's stead. Do come nearer. My voice is weakening."

Hermione, highly apprehensive, stepped into the room. She approached the bed. Harry kept his eyes down, as if he couldn't feel her presence at all, as if he could hear nothing.

"Miss Granger," Severus said. "These young men are my life."

Harry looked up; he felt his heart contract, his mouth open. Draco's eyes were the size of galleons.

"Will you trust me to protect them?" Severus said. "To keep them safe?"

Hermione nodded, eyes shining. "I should have all along," she whispered.

"Excellent." Severus stirred, easing an ache in his back; his brow furrowed. "I trust you know of the Fidelius Charm?"

Harry's mouth opened even further. The Fidelius Charm – the magical concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul. It was the secret-keeper charm, the protection over Grimmauld Place and once over his parents. Why hadn't he _thought?_

"I-I do, professor," Hermione said.

"Good... for your reassurance, I have no intention of making you answer to a higher authority for what you have done... I am not dead. You acted in good faith. I see no reason to drag this incident out."

Severus opened his eyes.

"Though, perhaps..." he said. "If you would, in recompense... you may keep a secret for the three of us."

Hermione's eyes welled up all over again. "I will," she whispered. "Of course I will. I – I promise. I'll keep it all my life."

"Excellent," Severus murmured. His strength was waning; Harry could see it in his eyes, in the tiredness of each movement. "Then I believe we safely close this chapter of our lives."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He realised Severus was watching him and tried to avoid the black gaze, but failed.

"Harry... Miss Granger's feelings these past months have often mirrored my own. Her methods were heavy-handed but in good faith. Be agreeable."

Harry said and did nothing. He curled his hands, scarred from the burning metal that he'd dragged off what was nearly Severus's corpse. He wasn't sure 'heavy-handed' covered it.

"Harry."

Harry gritted his teeth. "You nearly died."

"_Harry_."

"Look, I'm all for good intentions but – " Harry felt his shoulders shaking, and he had to bite the words out. "_Eight – days_. You don't know. You've been happy lying here without a clue. I've – I've _watched _it all, and I've been the one getting the letters, and – look, you nearly _died_. Dead, gone. The end. All because she didn't trust me to live _my_ life how I want."

Severus's eyes flared. "And nor did I. But you've forgiven me?"

"You didn't blow someone up!"

Hermione choked back a sob. "I – I didn't mean..."

Harry opened his mouth to start shouting again – she hadn't suffered enough, _nearly_ enough, and her tears were just making him angry. Before he could speak, Draco snapped at him from the bedside.

"Harry, bigger picture. At least she doesn't want to shag you. And at least this is over."

Harry bit his tongue, then made the mistake of looking into Severus's eyes. The older man was watching him with a penetrating and commanding intensity, waiting for him to stop being an idiot, patience waning. A single black eyebrow arched in his direction. His insides squirmed.

He resisted for a moment or two more, before a glance in Hermione's direction broke the last of his resolve. He said nothing, not trusting himself to speak, and held out an arm. She burrowed into his hug as if she would never let him go. He wrapped his arms around her; he rubbed her back, giving in.

"I never meant – " she began in his ear, her voice choked.

"Shut up," he mumbled. He squeezed her. "Idiot. It's alright."

"Miss Granger, would you give us five minutes?" Severus murmured, brushing a hand over his forehead. She let go of Harry with a blush.

"O-Of course... I – I'll fetch coffee. Thank you. Thank you, professor."

She hurried from the room, drying her eyes on her sleeves and closing the door behind her. Silence fell once more.

"Come here," Severus whispered, weak. "Lie with me."

There was barely room in the bed – Harry and Draco pressed close at either side, legs wrapped in the middle, their arms folding around Severus's chest. With what looked like his last flickers of strength, he put his arms around them. He hugged them close. Harry felt dizzy, felt weak inside; he could feel Severus's heart beating under their fingertips.

"Will you listen to me at last?" the older man whispered.

They nodded, watching each other across the steady rise and fall of his chest.

"I love you," he murmured, and Harry thought he would die. "I love you _both_. I love you deeply and dearly, and I fear I will do so for the rest of my life. Come what may."

Severus inhaled.

"I've come to realise," he whispered. "I... I am _happy,_ when I am with you both. I feel myself. I feel... _real. _And perhaps nothing else matters." His throat muscles worked. "Forgive me. Forgive an ungrateful old man."

He closed his eyes.

"I... I was afraid."

Draco's eyes brimmed with tears. "Oh, bollocks," he sobbed, rolling over and grabbing for the tissue box. "Not again."

Severus's laughter would stay with Harry for the rest of his life.


	18. Three's Company

*****

**Triquetra**

_**By Mottlemoth**_

*****

**Chapter Eighteen – Three's Company **

"Welcome to the first Potions class of your seventh and final year."

Professor Snape leant back in his chair, studying them all over steepled fingertips.

"I shall begin," he said, "by expressing my begrudging congratulations and considerable surprise that every member of the class managed to pass their sixth year examinations. A number of grades achieved were, in fact, exemplary. If any of you plan to take this as permission to slack off, and think you might just 'coast' your final year, then clearly six years of my existence have been wasted."

Their professor was looking much better than he usually did in September – the returning tide of students normally sunk his eyes another inch into his face, and turned his hair to rat-tails. He appeared groomed this year, smartened, at ease. His hair was drawn into a neat ponytail, his eyes void of dark circles, his cheeks not quite so sallow. The burns from his accident last year had healed so well as to be visible only to those who knew what they were looking for.

Later, as the class discussed first lessons with their friends, more than one person would remark that Professor Snape seemed to have had a very pleasant summer.

"I gather a number of my colleagues intend to 'ease' you back into your studies," Snape said, idly. "Naturally, I find this attitude laughable. I trust you have all been engrossed in private study over summer, preferably of something other than alcohol, rock and roll music, or somebody else's genitals, and so there is no need to coax you tenderly back into this tricky concept of using your brains."

He raised an eyebrow.

"There will be no allowances made for the break in your taught studies. As a result, open your textbooks to chapter twelve and locate the section on acidity. Choose a draft you have not yet been assessed on, and begin."

There was a lot of scraping of chairs and scrambling as people ran towards the store cupboard for ingredients. Soon, the room was filled with smoke and the crackle of fires, cauldrons bubbling, heads bent over lists of instructions as everyone tried to remember how to read. It had been a long summer. Snape circulated amongst the group, sending waspish remarks towards anyone dawdling or lagging behind.

Harry was chopping up mint leaves, halfway to finished by the time the professor reached their table.

"Keep an eye on that seaweed, Miss Granger. I advise you not to let it over-pickle."

"Yes, sir."

"I should adjust your heat, as well, before the salt is added. The whole thing seems to be progressing well. Good work."

Harry, engrossed in chopping, didn't notice at first when a hand slid across his lower back. He _did_ notice it splay at his arse, then slip down to his thigh. He grinned as Severus stepped into the warmth of his body, rested his chin on Harry's shoulder and murmured,

"You will marmalise those mint leaves, Mr Potter. Such shoddy chopping."

Harry bit his lip, his chest bubbling as enthusiastically as his cauldron. "Wow, Professor. You're right. Perhaps a demonstration would assist my learning."

"Perhaps indeed." Severus's hands moved down Harry's arms, curling around his fingers and easing the rhythm of his chopping. "Little strokes," he murmured. "Ease them apart. Persuade them."

The rest of the class were oblivious. Even the students at the next table didn't bat an eyelid, didn't notice anything amiss as their professor planted a kiss on the neck of his prize student. Draco, across the room, smirked and eyed them fondly. Hermione, their Secret-Keeper, grinned into her salt solution.

The rest of the class, and indeed the rest of the world, could stare directly in Harry and Severus's direction and perceive nothing of interest whatsoever. They could see Harry's bed go empty six nights in a week out of seven, and yet notice nothing. They could look out of a window to where Harry and Draco and Severus walked by the lake, arm-in-arm, often pausing to kiss in the moonlight; and see only empty grounds.

Only Hermione knew, and only Hermione would ever know.

"Whose marks were exemplary?" Harry asked, as he leant back into Severus's chest and let his lover chop for him.

Severus smirked against the side of his neck. "You know very well whose."

"Do I?" Harry tilted his head. "Just clarify for me... for the record..."

"Yours were," Severus said, and kissed at his earlobe. "Beast. On account of you putting some effort in, growing a brain and paying attention to me for once. Now buck up this chopping, and stop distracting me."

He slapped Harry playfully on the arse as he drew away, and moved across the classroom to check on Draco.

"By the way," he called. "Castle steps, at eight... perhaps you might like to wear a smart shirt. The choice is yours."

Harry grinned, blushing to his hairline – he tried not to hear Hermione's giggles next to him.

"Where are we going?" he asked, over the noise of the class's cauldrons.

"I don't recall saying we were going anywhere." Severus greeted Draco with a kiss, to which the blonde's bench partner was oblivious. "Miss Granger, don't wait up."

*

Harry and Draco were huddled together on the castle steps by eight o' clock. Draco had come in a shirt of dove-grey silk, and no coat, which meant they were having to share Harry's. Harry suspected this had in fact been Draco's plan, but he wasn't complaining. The blonde shivered against him, head tucked under Harry's chin and his eyes on the black September sky.

"Snow by morning," he murmured.

"I didn't know you took Divination."

Draco laughed, the sound coming in warm little puffs against Harry's neck. "N-No. My veela senses are tingling. Snow by morning."

"Your - ... you do not have a built-in weather sensor. You've got a lot of things, but not that. Stop making things up."

"You're right, I don't. I saw it in the Evening Prophet."

Harry grinned and tutted, hugging Draco tighter. "You're terrible... I almost fell for that."

"I _can_ sense sexual desire, though. That's much more useful than weather prediction, in my humble and authoritative opinion."

"Well, of course you can... it's there whenever Sev or I look at you. There's no sensing needed."

Draco shivered, pressing a kiss to the corner of Harry's jaw. "You're wonderful," he said, then: "I'm so glad it's you. Both of you. So glad." His arms slid around Harry's waist beneath the heat of the coat, holding tight. "I'm the luckiest half-breed in the world."

Harry smiled into the white-gold silk of Draco's hair. He heard footsteps from the entrance hall behind them and glanced round, watching as Severus ascended the staircase from the dungeons.

The older man had opted for dragon-hide boots and riding trousers snug to the thigh, a wine-coloured satin shirt, a long coat that stirred across the ground. He wore black gloves. For some reason, this detail was the one above all that made Harry's heart contract.

Draco, apparently sensing desire, looked up from beneath Harry's chin.

"Oh my," he decided.

Severus reached them, as cool as if completely unaware of the two mouths watering in his direction. There was the smallest smile on his lips. He gathered them near and they caught a tantalising flicker of aftershave, something velvety and smoky and intriguing. Draco seized upon the scent at once.

"Mm – what is that?" He inhaled deeply at Severus's neck, shivering. "Oh, that's – mmhm."

"We appreciate, do we?" He leant down, kissing Draco gently on the lips. "A bottle or something or other Minerva gave me for a birthday. I shall incorporate it into my bathing routine more often."

He turned to Harry, whose eyes flickered shut. Severus's lips nudged at his own and they kissed in greeting – tender, soft.

"Which of you decided to forego a coat?" the older man murmured against his mouth.

"Dray did." Harry was wishing he knew why the simple combination of black gloves and aftershave had turned him into a weak-kneed wreck. Severus's powers of seduction seemed like they were capable of rivalling even Draco's. "Are we going somewhere warm?"

"Mm, we are. Let's go there at speed. I don't intend spending the night nursing either of you through a heavy cold."

*

Harry wouldn't forget the restaurant. The place was beautiful, all potted palms and bronze and seats of pale gold velvet, and they had been given a table towards the back, away from the chill of Hogsmeade outside. They shared a platter of spiced prawns and shrimp to start, then there was a lot of tasting and sampling of each other's main courses. Severus, not possessed of a sweet tooth, passed on dessert. Harry and Draco shared a glass dish of ice cream and cherries and melted dark chocolate, taking care to feed each other as often as possible. Severus watched dark-eyed from across the table.

At last, the older man took up the third spoon their waitress had brought. He eased a cherry free from the mess, so dark with sauce and chocolate it looked almost black, and slid it into his mouth.

"As I thought," he murmured, licking his lips and chewing. "Full of liquor."

"Will you get us home safe?" Harry grinned, and opened wide for another spoonful of cream and chocolate from Draco. He sucked it from the spoon. Draco's eyes were burning with delight.

"I shan't be carrying you," Severus said. "I will happily escort you, though... ensure neither of you fall prey to anyone with lascivious intentions towards two drunken young men."

"Apart from you?" Draco murmured.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Indeed," he said.

They finished their dessert; Severus paid, leaving a generous tip, and they headed back out into the cold. Harry felt as if his insides had turned to hot cherries and chocolate. He felt cosy and rich and more than a little affectionate, and as he walked between the two of them, he was so aware of their hands – Severus's hand, wrapped about his waist; Draco's hands on his chest. The touches smouldered against his skin, stirring his nerves to life. The night was nowhere near its end.

It began to snow just as they reached the castle doors, heavy flakes tumbling from the liquid black of the sky, dusting their hair and shoulders. They slipped down into the dungeons. Severus kindled a fire in the bedroom grate and hung their clothes up to dry, as the boys got ready for bed.

Harry was finished first; Draco's personal grooming regime was a delicate and lengthy process, but more than worth the wait. Harry made himself comfortable beneath the cool covers, naked, enjoying the scent of vanilla and sleep and home.

He looked up as a glass of wine was placed on the bedside cabinet next to him.

"Mm?"

"Drink up," Severus murmured, settling in the chair by the bed. Harry had been fucked over that particular chair countless times now; he was surprised it could still bear weight. Severus had yet to change out of his riding boots and shirt. He had a glass of wine himself, the contents of which were somewhat darker than Harry's.

Harry stirred onto his elbows, reaching for the wine. It was fruity and dark and pooled low in his stomach, with a tell-tale aftertaste.

"I'll end up addicted to the stuff," he said, half-playful, as he licked the last drop from the rim of the glass.

Severus smiled slightly, taking a sip. "I perfected my own version of the recipe... none of the ingredients pose the slightest chance of dependence. Even if there _was_ risk, the pair of us would be beyond hope by now - nearly a year of consistent dosage. So have no fear. It is completely un-addictive."

He ran a hand down Harry's bare arm.

"Plentiful sex with a veela, however..."

Harry grinned into the pillows. "A little of what you fancy does you good," he said. He eyed Severus's much darker glass. "Do you take a higher dose?"

"I _need_ to take a higher dose, I assure you. Without it, the pair of you would have killed me long ago."

"Whatever keeps you going." Harry closed his eyes, content, enjoying the stroke of fingertips up and down his arm. "I can't imagine Draco being satisfied with one performance a night."

Severus murmured, smiling. "It would be abuse of his rights..." He drained his glass, relegated it to the bedside table and then leant over Harry. He nuzzled into the Gryffindor's hair. "Roll over, sweet... keep your eyes closed."

Harry, grinning and keeping his eyes shut, turned slowly onto his back. Severus's lips grazed across his mouth. He responded softly, barely touching, barely kissing, as the covers were coaxed down. Fire-warmed air touched his bare skin, making him shiver. Severus's hands laid on his body.

"You are so beautiful," the older man breathed against his lips, and the caresses began – up his chest, brushing his nipples and over his collarbones, then down over his stomach and gently stroking his pubic hair. Harry bit his lip, feeling a fine tremor beginning already in his muscles. Severus's whispers tickled at his lips. "I could spend my life making love to you... inside you. Listening to you. Feeling you writhe on me."

Harry swallowed, his eyes fluttering open. "God, Severus..." He rocked his hips towards the teasing touch, the slender fingertips petting just below his navel.

"Mm?" Severus curled a finger under his chin. "Something you want?"

"I..." Harry didn't know if he dared ask; he hoped this wasn't another kink coming to the fore. Being bitten, being tied, being dirty-talked. There was a worrying pattern starting to emerge, and he wasn't sure if it was a path they should follow too far.

He saw Severus's eyes follow his train of thought, and darken with amusement.

"I thought a little of what one fancies does one good..."

Harry flushed. "It's a long road downhill to being ball-gagged and whipped and having pegs stuck on my nipples." It definitely didn't appeal; nor did his next thought. "And I don't think you'd suit a studded leather basque."

"You cheeky little creature. I'm offended by the very thought of donning such a garment." Severus nipped at Harry's lower lip in reprimand, earning a tight moan. "There are different degrees of bondage and domination, sweet... it's not a case of 'in for a knut, in for a galleon'. A little, gentle bondage play and dirty-talk is blissfully normal."

He lowered his voice, letting his dark and almost honeyed tones drip into Harry's ear.

"Being bitten and bound and fucked and loving every minute of it does not make you a monster, Harry. Worry not."

Harry's cheeks blazed; his body seared with delight, his cock throbbing in eager response. He clutched the older man's upper arms.

"Severus – " He swallowed. "If you say much more like that, I'm going to come before Draco's even finished moisturising."

Draco's voice came impetuously from beyond the bathroom door. "If you want me to be soft, I have to moisturise! You'd complain if I stopped!"

Severus's lips curved. At last, and without warning, his hand coiled around Harry's stiffening cock and Harry jerked.

"I'm sure Draco won't resent us a practice run," the older man whispered, beginning to fist lazily up and down as his Gryffindor moaned in response. He nosed at Harry's temple. "I do love your first climaxes of the night... claiming them myself. Selfish, perhaps. But I so adore hearing you sob for me."

Harry's mouth fell open. "God – please..."

Severus licked his lower lip. "Lift your hands... hold the headboard."

Harry complied at once, trembling with anticipation. His thighs fell open as Severus continued to fist his rigid cock, the older man's tongue now lazily exploring the junction of Harry's collarbones.

"_Bindus_," Severus whispered against the damp skin, tender as _I love you. _Harry felt cords snake from the wall, twine between slats in the headboard and secure themselves gently around his wrists. His whole body began to shudder. "Your ankles as well, sweet?"

"N-No – " Harry wet his dry lips. Not tonight, not now. "Just... your voice – "

"Mmhm. Good boy." Severus kissed his left nipple, the gentlest press of lips; then his hand left Harry's cock. Harry whined at the loss, bucking his hips to no avail. "No, sweet... I don't want you to come yet."

"But – "

"Not yet." Severus settled back in the bedside chair, barely a metre from Harry but so out of reach. Harry ached, desperate for contact. This was unspeakably cruel.

As he saw Severus reach for the fastenings of the riding trousers, Harry changed his mind. This wasn't cruel. This was nothing short of diabolical.

"Oh my God – Severus, don't you dare – "

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Mm?" He snapped open the catch, coaxing the zip down slowly. "Something the matter?"

Harry tugged fruitlessly at his bonds. "I – you c-can't – "

Severus made himself comfortable, and slid a hand inside his black boxers. He shivered and mmed in the back of his throat, freeing his heavy cock. He swallowed.

"Close your eyes, if you can't bear it," he whispered; he began to stroke himself, watching Harry, his eyes relaxing with idle enjoyment. "Don't fret, sweet. You'll have my prick soon enough."

Harry whimpered; he wanted to cry. Surely this counted as abuse. Never in his life had he wanted use of his hands so badly, and never had he been this hard. "You're – y-you're evil – you're _actually_ evil – "

"Must I hush you?"

Severus's eyes blazed, soft with arousal.

"If I knelt over your chest – fed you my cock, filled that pretty mouth of yours and held your head – would you still be protesting? Choking around me?"

Harry's head fell back into the pillows. "Oh _God_." The movements of Severus's hand were so slow, too slow, just stirring his cock into thickness. He wouldn't come; he would just drive Harry to insanity and back.

"Or if I spread your legs apart..." The older man stirred, smiling. "Spread you open and oiled your hot little hole until you were begging, crying... stuffed you with my prick... would you shut up then? If I fucked you until you were shaking. Fucked you until you ached and you thought you'd die."

"Oh – o-oh God – "

"No, you wouldn't be quiet... you'd be weeping for me. Crying out. Pleading with me to fuck you harder. Wouldn't you?"

"Y-Yes – oh please – "

"My little slut... my sweet." Severus shivered, swallowing, his head falling back as the movements of his hand sped a little. "If I gagged you, perhaps... mm? Silenced you with my shirt and pounded into your body, fucking you. Hauled you up and drove into you from behind hard. On all-fours for me. Legs spread. Your muffled cries. Sinking my teeth in your neck..."

Harry keened, gasping with desperation. "Shit – oh Sev, oh shit – "

At the very edge of his consciousness, he heard the bathroom door open and light spilt into the dark bedroom. Severus lifted his head. Draco stood framed by the light, naked, the tips of his hair tousled lightly about his shoulders.

He smiled, surveying the scene.

"Mm... tied, desperate Harry," Draco murmured. He came closer, kneeling on the bed and crawling across to them. "My favourite kind. Love, would it ruin your fun if I fucked him?"

Severus's eyes glittered. "Not in the least."

Harry could only pant. "Dray – D-Dray, please – " He twisted against his bonds, spreading his legs and pulling his knees back. "Please do it – "

Draco hummed, as if with interest, easing across the mattress to kneel between Harry's parted thighs. He ran his fingertips along them. Harry nearly fainted at the lightness of his touch, the contact he so badly needed.

"Please – "

Draco knelt down, wetting his lips. He sucked Harry's cock slowly into his mouth, without a moment of hesitance, and Harry dug his head back into the pillows to stop from coming on the spot.

"N-No – " he gasped, desperate. "N-Not this way – I-I _want_ – "

Draco's fingers closed tight around the base of his cock, forming a snug ring. The other hand was nowhere to be felt; Harry didn't want to think about it. He thought he'd come if he did. Instead, he forced his brain to run through every single detention he'd ever served with Filch, his eyes screwed tight shut. He knew Severus was still watching but he didn't think about that either.

At last, Draco's other hand made itself known – his fingertips circled Harry's hole slowly, spreading slickness that had come from Draco himself. Harry nearly bit through his lip. The initial burn helped to cool some of his raging arousal, but the gentle motions of Draco's mouth kept him at the brink. He pulled at his bonds, white-knuckled, begging for mercy.

Severus, thank God, could be a merciful man when he was needed. He stood from the bedside chair at last, still in his shirt and trousers and those wretched riding boots, and eased onto the bed. Harry wet his lips, shaking with desperation.

"Please – " he whimpered. "_Please – _please let me – "

Severus knelt across his chest, gently. He guided the heavy prick to Harry's lips.

"Shhh," the older man whispered as Harry sucked it in, shuddering with relief. The thickness in his mouth preoccupied him from the wet heat around his cock, the feel of Draco's second finger cosying its way inside. Severus cupped his cheek, stroked his brow with a thumb. "You won't come, sweet... not until we want. Don't worry."

Harry's eyes flickered shut, mumbling his acquiescence around a mouthful of Severus's cock. He stopped fighting and relaxed in his bonds. Slowly he sucked, the way he'd been taught, the way he knew would win him praise. Draco's fingers began to scissor inside him.

The third was uncomfortable; he jerked a little and gagged about Severus's cock, twitching with discomfort. Severus slid from his mouth at once. Gripping at his bonds, shaking, Harry bit out, "F-Feels – "

"I know, sweet." Severus moved off his chest, leaning down, kissing him. He cradled Harry's cheeks. "I know... relax, mm? Relax for us... you're safe..."

Harry's chest heaved, drinking in the older man's comfort. "L-Love you – "

"I love you, too. We both love you. We love you desperately and you're doing beautifully for us..." Severus paused, kissing gently at his lips. "Would you like to come, mm?"

"N-No – " Harry bit into his lip as Draco's finger buried to the hilt; the blonde was watching him carefully from between his open legs, eyes soft, full of concern. Harry stirred. "W-Want – keep going – "

Severus hummed his promise, nuzzling between Harry's eyes, and turned to Draco. "Don't tease him, love... all the way..."

Draco bent to kiss the inside of Harry's knee. "Almost there, sweet... not long. I promise." The three fingers buried in Harry began to move, pushing gently, sliding in and out of his oiled entrance. "Love you, Harry... you're everything..."

By the time Draco's cock was stretching its way inside, piercing Harry to the core, the discomfort had ebbed – there was only pleasure, and so much of it that Harry was once more trying to relive happy memories of Filch. Draco, flushed in the cheeks and quivering, began to thrust at once. Harry tightened and gasped, whining, tugging at his bonds for more. He always forgot how much he loved this.

Severus watched them fuck for some time, not touching, not involving himself – content to observe them at play. He then stood from the side of the bed, moved round to the end and loosened his trousers, kneeling on the mattress behind Draco. He pressed between Draco's shoulder blades.

"Lean forward, love... spread for me..."

Draco shuddered, leaning over Harry and eagerly pushing his legs apart, panting. The rhythm of his thrusts slowed to a stop. Harry watched, his whole body pounding, as Severus shifted tight to Draco's body and hooked an arm around the blonde's waist, holding him in place. Draco's pupils swelled as he was penetrated, then the silver eyes flickered shut entirely. He groaned thickly in the back of his throat, head falling forwards. Harry kissed at his cheeks and around his lips, shaking.

"Fucking hell, Severus," Draco whispered. He swallowed, then pushed back against the older man, his cock withdrawing briefly from Harry's stretched arse. "Do it. D-Do it. Fuck me."

Severus shuddered, teeth gritted as he sheathed himself as deep as he could in Draco's body. He pulled Draco's torso up, his grip firm and his hands shaking. Harry couldn't help but moan in protest at the length of time he'd been empty – he _needed_ to be fucked. He couldn't articulate it.

Luckily, Draco got the message. He shoved back inside – almost too hard, almost rough – and Harry let out a cry. The blonde then pushed back onto Severus's cock, and Severus flexed forwards. They began.

It took some minutes before the rhythm was just right. When it was, Harry felt his eyes roll back into his head – Draco was making the most desperate of sounds, moaning as he rocked forward into Harry then whimpering as Severus thrust in turn. Harry could only gaze at both of them, lost. It felt as if he were being fucked by both, both at once. He felt both of their presence inside of him. He couldn't breathe; he couldn't hold on, couldn't last.

He tried to whimper in warning but what left his lips was a hitched cry, then a howl. His body sizzled; the pleasure seared inside him, burning him, and he sobbed with desperation as he came. Halfway through, somewhere in the haze, he felt Draco shove forward and wetness flooded his insides, and he could hear Severus moaning with ecstasy.

As the pounding subsided, Harry was surprised to find himself still alive. His chest was heaving and his skin shone with sweat. He was still hard, his stomach spattered in own his come.

Draco, whose wine sat untouched on the cabinet, withdrew carefully and tumbled to the side, gasping, spent – for now.

Severus slid between Harry's spread legs, resuming Draco's place. His clothing was ruffled and crumpled into a state of disarray – somehow still aristocratic, still _powerful_, a wild touch to his finery. His face was flushed, and his eyes glittering with almost reverent desire. His still-rigid erection nuzzled at Harry's wet entrance.

"First to come loses," he whispered against the inside of Harry's knee, sealing it with a kiss and then skewering Harry in a single stroke. Harry quivered. He could feel the pulse of his older lover's cock inside him, and he loved it. "Last to come wins. Round one goes to me."

"You're on," Harry said.

*

Hermione was reading. It was an article for Charms, rather interesting so far, and she moved only to highlight a line of text or jot a note to herself in the margins. Ron sat beside her on the sofa with a comic. It was nearly ten.

"Harry's out late tonight," Ron said, waking Hermione from nearly twenty minutes of solid concentration. She blinked.

"Mm? Oh – he's in the library, I think... he's got a lot to do this year. Professor Snape has put him forward for the special Potions Extension Examination. If Harry applies to university, it'll really – "

"Hermione." Ron's face twisted in a half-smile. "I'm not thick. I _know_."

Hermione said nothing, though her blood ran slightly cold. Nobody could know. The only way anyone in the world could find out would be through Hermione's own decision to tell someone, and she certainly hadn't told a soul – Ron, especially. She stared at the red-head, waiting, her heart thumping in her chest.

Ron lowered his voice, leaning closer.

"I know he's with Draco," he said. "He told me last year, right before Snape got himself blown up in that accident. It's alright. When he's with Draco, just say... you don't have to lie to me."

Hermione relaxed; she smiled. "Oh... okay. I didn't know you knew."

Ron grinned, rather proud. "Well, there you go... I've known for ages, thanks very much. I _am_ the best friend, after all." He returned to his comic book. "Harry and I don't keep secrets anymore."

"And you're alright with him and Draco, are you?"

"Sure I am! Progressive, liberal sort of bloke, me."

"That's great, Ron. I'm really pleased." Hermione smiled, wondering, watching Ron over her Charms article. "It doesn't freak you out at all, then?"

"Nah. When I've got a house, him and Malfoy can come to dinner anytime they want. Nothing Harry does could freak me out."

He made a noise of amusement behind his comic book, as something occurred to him.

"So long as he doesn't two-time Malfoy with... with _Snape_, or something. Or – or if they just kept him, and they all lived together with ornaments on the mantelpiece and stuff – and Snape cooking in a flowery apron! Could you _imagine_ that?"

Hermione grinned. She'd just decided what to get Severus for Christmas.

"Crazy," she agreed.

*

Harry woke next morning to find soft black eyes watching him sleep. They regarded each other across the short inches of space, saying nothing for quite some time. Severus took to stroking Harry's cheek. Draco was still asleep, nestled close, his breath soft and steady on the curve of Harry's neck.

"So... what now?" Harry whispered, his voice dry after a long night. Severus brushed back his fringe.

"Now?"

"Well... now, the future... things to come..." Harry laid his hands on Severus's chest. "What happens now?"

Severus's fingers continued to stroke through his hair, gently messing each sleep-shaped tuft into further disarray. "When are you eighteen?"

"July, next year..."

"Mm. And you intend to do what, after that?"

Harry said nothing, running his hands over Severus's pectorals and onto his shoulders, squeezing. Severus put a quiet kiss on the top of his head.

"You're doing something with your life," the older man warned, soft and stern at once, as only Severus could be. "Rid yourself of any contrary thoughts right now."

"Alright, alright... maybe university, something like that. I'm thinking about it. I promise."

"Good. I'm content to be a part of your life – you know that. But not your entire life. The same applies to Draco."

He began to trace circles on the back of Harry's neck, down between his shoulders.

"You have your seventh year to concentrate on," Severus murmured. "Examinations. A future to set in motion for yourself. When you're eighteen, we'll make decisions about 'us'. Not until then."

Harry said nothing, downcast. He'd thought that if Severus had learnt anything over the past year, it was that Harry was grown-up _now – _an adult _now_. He didn't see what difference eighteen made. He faced Severus's chest and neck rather than his eyes, letting the quiet lengthen, wondering what he'd done wrong.

Severus, noticing the silence, leant near. He nuzzled for Harry's lips, catching them, kissing them gently until Harry found it difficult to stay resentful. He responded, giving in – but Severus's lips closed to him at once.

"Please," he mumbled, pecking hopefully.

"You are adorable."

The unexpected compliment made him stop. "Hrm?" he said, surprised, and his eyes opened. "What?"

"Your pessimism – I find it adorable. You haven't quite learnt to read me yet, have you?"

"I – I don't understand, what – "

"Harry..." Severus spoke against his lips, in dark and honeyed tones that flipped Harry's stomach inside out. "When I tell you to concentrate on your exams this year, and consider university this year, and leave 'us' until _next_ year... it is because, adorable dolt of mine, you could well have _the rest of your life_ to think about 'us'..."

One dark eyebrow arched.

"Mm?"

Harry's heart was leaping. "That's – okay." A grin broke over his face before he could stop it. "I guess I can wait until next year to talk."

"Can you two shut up?" came the sleepy protest from Draco, half-muffled against Harry's shoulder. "It's early. Leave silly serious talks until daylight. Sleep time now."

"I quite agree." Severus reached for the covers, drawing them higher. "No more talking, until breakfast at the very least. We all need our rest."

Harry was very happy to accept this decision. As Severus nestled tighter, Harry stirred to accommodate the older man and felt arms go around their waists, limbs tangling neatly, shifting and getting comfortable as a three until there was finally stillness. Harry felt his focus fade within moments.

He could sense Draco's heart beating contentedly against his back, and Severus's pulse against his chest, both of them breathing in rhythm with him now. He didn't know if he could ever sleep alone again. It would be like missing two of his hearts, eight of his limbs. He'd made his choice in life; he would see it through to the end, come what may.

As peace came at last, Harry drew a sigh of pure contentment. Vanilla filled his lungs.

It lulled him to sleep.

*

_The End._

*


End file.
